


Spirit Song

by Kiadi



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alcohol, Canon Compliant, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Drinking, F/M, First Kiss, First Love, First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Headcanon, Heartbreak, Human Cole (Dragon Age), Humor, Intrigue, Kirkwall (Dragon Age), POV Cole (Dragon Age), POV First Person, Poetic, Poetic Characters, Politics, Romance, Sex, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Smut, Song Lyrics, Trespasser
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-31
Updated: 2017-01-22
Packaged: 2018-07-28 07:49:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 79,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7631386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kiadi/pseuds/Kiadi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kirkwall was not what I expected.  Varric's invitation said I could help, but he thought I would just be making people feel better, happier.  He didn't know we'd be dealing with Carta assassins, a scheming nobleman, a mad Templar, and a strange bodiless spirit.  This is all very complicated.</p><p>And I didn't know he invited the beautiful bard, Maryden, here, too.  I really wish I'd asked Varric about women, now.  This is too complicated!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Help For Kirkwall

**Author's Note:**

> Like all the stories I write, this story is FINISHED (17 chapters total) and I'll be posting them as my Beta reader and I clean them up. Should be about a chapter a week, give or take.
> 
> I will be posting this story on both Fanfiction.net and AO3. Fanfiction.net will have the “clean” version (no smut/sex scenes) while AO3 will have the uncut version.

Everything has a song. Rocks, trees, the wind, the water; they all sing of what they've seen and learned. Secret stories and sentiment for those who can sense them.

I can hear the songs, especially ones of sadness, pain, anger, guilt; things I can help. Although I can hear them, I cannot make them real, make them more that others can hear them. Only a few have this gift.

As I passed through the mostly empty streets of Lowtown, in the city of Kirkwall, I heard the familiar sound of one of the gifted. A very familiar sound. I knew who it was even before I entered the Hanged Man, where I agreed to meet Varric.

The sandstone streets sang a song of their own. It sang of a bustling market, goods hawked and traded with gusto, before the troubles drove them away. Now they were empty and quiet; only a few remaining to tough out the tough times.

The sun was high in the sky when I entered the tavern, and I had to pause at the entrance to let my eyes adjust to the darkness. The foul smell of strong drink, stale sweat, and sick assailed my nose, making my belly ache and protest. The music was far more pleasant to my ears; a song and voice I'd heard many times before back in Skyhold.

As my eyes adjusted, they confirmed what my ears already knew. In addition to the filthy tables, rowdy drunks, and wooden floor covered in blood stains and Maker-knows-what, I saw her. I was accustomed to seeing Maryden singing in Skyhold's tavern, so it was strange seeing her this far north in a place inferior to her usual venue. It was her, though, no doubt.

Her strong, sweet voice sang of Sera now: a lighthearted song, even though there was the pain of rejection hidden within. It gave the normally gloomy tavern an air of joy that made me smile, despite the smell.

The mystery of why she was here would have to wait until later. I scanned the bar, but couldn't find my dwarven friend. It was disappointing – I hadn't seen Varric in over a year – but I knew he was here. I walked over to the barkeep, who looked at me with a skeptical, faux-friendly manner. He didn't care much for my clothing; patched and old leathers that spoke of a poor and rough upbringing, and an over-sized hat. It was an instant judgment, and one I was used to.

“What can I get you, kid?”

It was common for people to call me “kid.” I didn't know how old I was, but everyone around me said I looked like a teenager, no older than twenty. The label reminded me again of Varric, who used it as more of a term of endearment than a label. I found myself growing more anxious to see him again.

“I'm here to see Varric.” The barkeep was suspicious. Varric had many enemies, and he thought I must be one of them. I knew I wasn't, but how do I convince him? “I'm Cole. He asked me here, so I'm here.”

That worked. A little. The barkeep grunted at me, and gestured towards a dirty table behind me. “I'll tell him you're here, _Cole_.” I didn't like the way he said my name.

I sat at the table, leaning my back against the wall so I could watch the other patrons. Maryden was still singing, but my table didn't have a view of her. I wish I did; it would have been a nice distraction from the tavern itself.

The Hanged Man is depreciated, decayed, and dirty. I don't know what Varric sees in this place. The one at Skyhold was much nicer, if not perfectly pristine itself. Even at this hour, there were men and women getting sloppily drunk (and sloppily everything else.) I could see one passed out at his table, drooling all over the old, splintered wood. Another was trying to hit up the cranky barmaid. Yet another was singing along with Maryden in a voice more suited to a cat in heat than a bard. I really wished she'd stop.

I turned away, letting the brim of my hat block my view. I didn't like being in crowded places. I lived at the tavern in Skyhold, yes, but I stayed on the highest floor, the attic where the boxes and birds dwelled. I could stay away from people, while still hearing the songs from below. I only came down when I needed to help someone.

There were a lot of people who needed help here, and that was why they stayed. The alcohol dulled the painful songs and made them forget, briefly. I felt the pull, the need to help that drives me, but it was hard to help those who were so addled by drink. They would have to wait.

“Kid! You made it!”  
  
I looked up to see the familiar scruff and unbuttoned ornate blouse of my dwarven friend. His straight-as-an-arrow, strawberry blond hair hung barely off his shoulders, tied in a half-ponytail, and he was smiling at me as he took a brisk walk in my direction. I stood up to greet him.  
  
“Varric!” He let me hug him, though I could sense his annoyance at this show of affection in his favorite tavern.  
  
“Cool it, Kid. Don't want people here thinking I'm a softy.” He gently pushed me away, patting me on the shoulder. It had been several months since I'd seen him, and I didn't realize how much I'd missed him. He missed me, too.

My table has only one chair, so Varric grabbed another from nearby, ignoring the glare from the soldier sitting adjacent. He pulled the seat up and practically jumped into the human-built stool, setting his crossbow, Bianca, down next to him.

“I'm glad you're here, Kid.” A mug of ale was set in front of him. He didn't ask for it, but he never had to. Everyone in the Hanged Man knew Varric. “Kirkwall is still in bad shape. We don't have a proper and permanent Viscount, and everyone and their Mabari is trying to get a piece of her.”

There are Mabari in Kirkwall? I hope I get to meet them.

“Trade is damn near impossible with the docks like they are. Choir Boy is threatening to invade. Again! And Aveline has her hands full with...everything. Honestly, this bar is the only place in the whole damn city that hasn't gone to shit.”

Probably because it was already “shit.”

“So...you holding up okay, Kid?” His voice was softer now, compassionate and concerned. “I didn't want to leave you behind like that, but when I heard what was happening here...”

I smiled at him. “I'm alright, Varric, but thank you for caring.”

I had only been real – well real _er –_ for a year or so and I was still getting used to it. Varric helped me a lot. He helped me understand what it meant to be human, but there was still a lot to learn. He worried for me, coddled me as a parent would a young child. I didn't mind; he saw me as the son he never had and his nurturing nature was a comfort to him as well as me. But I was more now, and even as he worried, he knew I would be fine and I understood why he had to come here.

I was also glad to be back with him again.

“You eating yet?” He asked me eagerly.

“No.”

“Drinking?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I don't need to.”

“Do you even _want_ to?”

“No.”  
  
Varric let out a growl deep in his throat. “Seriously, Kid, you're not going to become more human if you don't get out there and start doing more humany-things.”

I shook my head. “If I don't have to eat and drink, why must I? If I have food or drink in my hand, isn't it better to give it to someone who needs it more?”

“It wouldn't hurt you to do things for yourself every once in a while.”

“I'm not worried about me, I worry about them.”

“Maybe you should worry more about you.'”

We had this discussion before, a lot. He just didn't understand! Helping people is what I do. It's why I exist. I wanted to be more human, to grow and become more, but I needed to help. “Needing” is more important than “wanting!”

I had always felt hunger, thirst, and sleepiness, but the Fade sustained me and made those feelings go away. I could still pull on the old songs and be sated. The more human I became, though, the quieter the songs became, and the harder it got to sate myself. I did not want to give that up! It wasn't just the fear of becoming dependent – and to risk starving to death like the real Cole did – but the knowledge that the more I had to care for myself, the less I could care for others.  
  
Hunger and fatigue were not new to me, but there was one sensation that was. A venereal pull of the body, feverish and forceful, refusing to be forgotten. At first, it only affected me. I could manage that. Then I started feeling it pull me towards others, frustrating and foiling.

There was a time I could watch a body dress or bathe in front of me, or witness a couple copulate in a concealed corner, and I would feel nothing. Now I _did_ feel it, and it only grew stronger as time went on. Unlike my hunger and thirst, pulling on the Fade didn't help to curb it. If anything, it made it worse. It's a very irritating distraction when you are trying to help.

Thankfully, although very strong, it was also very rare. I still had the advantage of seeing into a person's heart; their love, intention, morals. Even the most comely could not hold my desire if they were cruel, corrupt, cold; a small comfort. These feelings were both horrible and wonderful, painful and pleasing. It is hard to show kindness to the kind and captivating when my own emotions refused to cooperate.

Speaking of those I found appealing, “Why is Maryden here?”

Maryden's songs sang of peace, praise, and propaganda. She always traveled with the Inquisitor, the Herald of Andraste, singing hymns of glory to his name. The Inquisitor wasn't in Kirkwall, though...

“I invited her here,” Varric said as he looked at her. He didn't have a pillar in his way. “Let's just say she owed me a favor.”

I nodded. “She's good at Wicked Grace, but you are better.”

Varric let out a loud guffaw. “I'm never going to give up trying to pull one over on you, Kid.” He raised his mug to me in praise. I don't understand why. “She wanted to help, she only hesitated because there's not much coin to be made in Kirkwall, not like there used to be. But I'm glad to say that telling some sob story about orphaned templars – as well as a Serpent-Entwined Dagger – is all it takes to get a world-famous bard to see things my way.”

That sounds like her.

“And I'm glad you brought her up. Now that both of you are here, I figured you could work together to improve morale and get this city running again. I have a feeling you two would make a good team.”

I considered for a moment telling Varric about these new feelings I had; feelings that were very strong in her presence. The thought of working with her made me happy and anxious all at once.

She was singing again, one of several songs she wrote after the conclave was destroyed. And I was reminded of another reason we shouldn't be together...

Warring  
Battle-scarred eyes  
  
Breach  
Into the Fade has come  
  
Demon  
Please spare my life  
And our sons

I felt the familiar pain of disappointment tighten in my chest as she finished, and I turned away from her. “I don't think that's a good idea.”

I felt more than saw Varric raise an eyebrow at me. “And why is that?”

It pained me to say it. “She's afraid of demons.”

“Most people are, Kid. Good thing you're not a demon.”

I opened my mouth to say something, but stopped, remembering where I was. I didn't want to blurt it out to everyone in the tavern.

“I know what you want to say, Kid, and you are wrong. There's no reason for her to fear you; you're human. Hell, you're as human as I am.”

I was confused. “You're a _dwarf_.”

“Yep, and a person, just like you. There's no need for her to know what you were, just what you are now.”

I shook my head, trying to wrap my mind around what he was saying. “I can't lie to her. I was...”

“ _Was_...” He repeated my word, emphasizing it. “She doesn't need to know what you _were_. Do you honestly think I tell all my acquaintances the many nuances of my history?”

I didn't think that, but I also knew that his secrets got him more trouble than they solved.

“It's only temporary anyway. Once we're done here, you can go back to finding missing people and she can go back to touring Thedas.”

It made sense (kind of) and I relaxed my shoulders enough to realize they were painfully tense before. Maryden had not started up a new song yet, but I could feel her presence in the bar, sitting on a stool drinking a glass of mead. I thought again about telling him the other reason I was nervous, but if our time together was only short-lived, maybe it wouldn't be necessary.

“Your timing couldn't be more perfect, Kid.” He took another, loud gulp of his ale. “I'm meeting a friend of mine here, and I was hoping...”

He trailed off, distracted, and it was made clear why. A burly, salt-and-pepper-haired dwarf approached our table, his eyes smiling and his steps confident. This was, no doubt, the dwarfiest dwarf I'd ever seen, with so much beard you couldn't even see his fancy, nobles clothing underneath it.

“Tethris! Good to see you.” He said as he approached our table. He looked very much like a dwarf, but didn't sound like one. His voice was a high, handsome tenor that hinted at a beautiful singing voice. I don't think he was here to sing, though.

“Why, if it isn't Cupcake. How are you?”

The dwarf frowned and bristled at the nickname, but didn't say anything. Varric likes to give everyone nicknames, and he doesn't care if you like it or not. I do not mind when he calls me “Kid,” but this dwarf didn't like being referred to as a sweet confection. Maybe I should tell him later how much people like cupcakes!

He glanced at me. “Is this the friend you mentioned? From the Inquisition?”

“It is indeed, glad you remembered.” He gestured to me. “This is Cole. Say 'Hello,' Kid.”

“Hello.”

His smile was deceptively friendly and warm, but it was a mask. Inside he was sizing me up the way a wolf sneers at a lost sheep. He saw a young, poor man; thin and bony, with a gaunt face; weak chin, and sunken blue eyes. He noticed wisps of ash-blond hair poking out of my “ridiculous” hat. He was polite enough not to say anything about it, though.

He took a seat between the two of us, gesturing to the waitress to bring him a glass of ale. “I am Talgon.” He glared at Varric, but only briefly. “And I'm honored to meet another member of the famed Inquisition.”

Again he said one thing, but meant another. This guy was very slimy.

“Cupcake here is one of my contacts in the Carta. He's been helping me try to get things up and running again.”

It was at this point that I realized Varric was wearing a mask, too. He was well aware Cupcake was far less trustworthy than he seemed, but their ability to hide it from any normal person was impressive. I guess I was no ordinary person.

  
“I do what I can to help.” Cupcake's voice had a sing-song quality to it, and he took a swig of his ale, grimacing at the horrible taste. “After being ousted from Orzimmar, we consider Kirkwall to be our home now. We'll do whatever it takes to make this place the center of trade and commerce it once was.”

Varric's mask dropped long enough to give a derisive snort. Talgon ignored it. “But, as I'm sure Varric has informed you, there are a lot of issues preventing us from rebuilding the way we'd like. Delivery delays, red tape, constant threats of invasion.”

“Keeping Varric from attending city meetings,” I blurted out.

This stopped them both cold, and they looked at me in shock. Varric was the first to speak. “What was that, Kid?”

“The Carta doesn't want you to go to the meetings.”

“Wha...” Talgon's voice strained, his mask dropped, and he struggled to put it back in place. “I said no such thing!”

“You were thinking it, though.” I said calmly. I could hear another voice in his head, someone with authority, and I tried my best to copy that gruff voice as I repeated his words from Talgon's head. “ _Varric will ruin everything. Do what it takes to keep him out of the City Council Meetings. If you fail..._ ”  
  
“The _fuck_ ,” Talgon shouted. If we had been in a respectable place, such an outburst would have garnered the attention of everyone in the bar. They ignored us. “You can't go making such baseless accusations, young man. The Carta isn't...”

“There's a meeting going on right now. Talgon is here to make sure you don't g...”

Varric jumped from his seat so quickly the chair smacked against the wall behind him. This time, the other bar patrons noticed, startled but they only stared, speechless and stunned.

He grabbed Bianca and threw her over his back as he stomped out towards the door. “Thank you so much for the info, Cupcake...”

“I didn'...”

“Come on, Kid, we've got to go. _Now_!”

* * *

 

“Well, there was your first look at what we're dealing with here, Kid.” Varric was walking at a brisk pace through Lowtown.

“Talgon wasn't really your friend.” My legs were longer, so I didn't have to take as many steps to keep up, but I still had to walk fast.  
  
“I figured. He was a major reason why I wanted you here. I knew something fishy was going on, but I didn't have the resources to find out what.”

“Are we going to that meeting?” I asked curiously. He never actually said.

“Yep. I had no intention of going, anyway – the damn things bore me – but you've convinced me I need to go.”  
  
“ _A house a home; this city a safe. Nights in the Fade, fading to knight. Devoted to devotion; libel for loyalty, sentenced for service. Blue purity does not sate like the red of blood._ ”

Varric chuckled, “You haven't changed much at all, have you?”

“I will help, Varric. Kirkwall will not be happy unless it is free in the Free Marches.”

“Glad to hear it, Kid.”

We walked in silence for a while. I liked walking with Varric; he was quiet inside, sundered from the Fade, making him harder to read than most. He was always calm, calculating, considerate, but also coy. He pulled me closer to here, away from the Fade. He was the reason I was now human.

We ascended the many stairs to Hightown and found it as deserted as Lowtown. Many nobles and wealthy merchants still lived here, but were away where they could more easily gain the luxuries they loved. The loyal remained, but were downtrodden, their spirits broken. There was so much to do; so many people to help. I wasn't sure where to begin.

We headed straight to the Viscount's Keep. It was big and intimidating. The walls were very tall; I counted four windows high on all sides. We had to climb several more stairs before we found the keep's entrance; flanked by guards and a very large, metallic bird.

The lobby was large and spacious, with stairs leading to the left and right into the upper levels. There were a lot of people here, mostly nobles, all impatient and agitated to the point that it seeped into the stone and mortar.

Varric walked up to the stairs towards the barracks. There were only a few guards here; all weary and overworked. There weren't enough of them to handle the crime on the streets, but they were trying.

One figure stood out among the others, however, and I stopped mid-stride when I saw it. The figure was hanging around the barracks, looking out among the guards, seemingly content to just be there. Soon, it spotted me, too, and it stared, surprised.

It was a spirit, just like me.

Well, maybe not _just_ like me, as I'm human now, but I use to be a spirit, and I could still see them. No one else could see the spirit in the hall, but we saw each other.

It didn't have a physical body. A wraith maybe? His translucent green form floated off the ground as it stared back at me with eyeless eyes. I lost my ability to identify spirits when I became real, but the spirit's ethereal armor and helmet said that it was some kind of war spirit. A reason to be wary, but it didn't seem to be ruthless.

“Hello,” I soothed as I slowly walked up to him. “Don't be afraid. I'm Cole.”

My soothing words didn't work, and it fled towards the back.

“Wait!”

“Kid?”

I barely heard Varric as I rushed through the surprised guards to try and catch the spirit. I saw it duck through an open door and around the corner. I ran in after it, but the dark room was empty. The spirit had vanished.

“Hold! State your business.”

I turned around to see a young elven woman in city guard armor, her sword drawn, bearing down on me. Only then did I realize it may not have been a good idea to go running through a barracks full of guards.

“Calm down, Private, he's with me.”

She wasn't a Private anymore, she was a Sergeant now, but I think that was just Varric's nickname for her. He pushed his way past the other guards to stand beside me.

Only after Varric reached my side did she sheath her sword and glare at us in annoyance. Her black hair was pulled back in a messy pony-tail, and she was the only elf among all of the guards. Despite being smaller than all of them, it was clear she was currently in charge.

“Varric, who is this? And why aren't you in the meeting with everyone else?”

He chose to ignore her questions about me. “That's what I'm here to find out, actually.”

He charged out of the barracks, towards a great hall, and I followed close on his heels.

“So Kid,” he spoke to me in a whisper as we walked towards the meeting hall. “What were you chasing back there?”

“A spirit.”

“A spirit? In the barracks?”

“I think he liked it there, but he ran when he saw me.”

“What kind of spirit?”

“Some kind of 'war' or 'warrior' spirit, I think. I'm not sure.”

“And it ran from you? Definitely not 'Valor.'”

He had more questions for me, but we arrived at the meeting hall entrance. The guards stiffened as Varric and I approached, and they stepped in front of the doorway, blocking our way. “Meeting is in session. No one is allowed to enter.”

“I'm Varric Tethris, and I need to be in that meeting.”  
  
The guards shuffled their feet and glanced at each other nervously. “My...apologies Master Tethris, but the doors are locked. We can't let you in.”

Varric raised a curious eyebrow. “Really?”

“Once a meeting begins, we can't...”

Varric raised his voice, to the point of shouting. Loudly. “ _Do you really expect me to believe you are incapable of unlocking the doors yourself, or knocking and asking someone to let me in? Are the counsel your prisoners now, trapped inside a boring, political debate..._ ”

“Master Tethris, there is no need to...”

“ _...with no end in sight? How are they supposed to eat? What if they need to use the privy? What if...._ ”

At that moment, the doors swung open, forcing both guards to retreat or be hit. Another guard emerged; a woman. This one had more ornate armor, an orange-striped scarf around her neck, and long, ginger-red hair. She reminded me of the cover of Varric's book, Swords and Shields. Guard-Captain Aveline.

Her eyes fell on Varric, who smiled back at her, before they turned to one of the guards at the door. “What is this commotion, soldier?”

The guard's expression was hidden behind his helmet, but it was clear he didn't want to look the Captain directly in the eye. “Guard-Captain, we were just...having a...discussion with Master Tethris.”

“Oh yes,” Varric's classic sarcasm sang through. “We were just discussing prison politics while the future of Kirkwall is being discussed in a meeting I'm being barred from attending.”

Aveline's expression was cold, but I sensed anger within her. She turned her authority to the guard that spoke. “Who are you, soldier? Name? Rank?”

The man stood at attention, but he wanted to hide somewhere. “P...private Markis Jenner Ser...Messer...um...Captain.”

Aveline let out an exasperated and angry sigh. “At ease, Private, they are with me.”

The guards saluted and returned to guarding. Varric gave a mock bow to both of them before marching into the meeting, his head held high, his face grinning proudly. I followed behind him.

The meeting hall initially looked empty, with benches on either side of the room. There was a wide stairway in the center, and at the top was were the nobleman were found. Two loges sat on either side, with rows of people sitting comfortably within, and space in the middle for the current speaker, which was currently a blonde woman in an uncomfortable Orlesian-style gown and no mask.  
  
I got funny looks from Aveline, but she didn't protest my presence. It was the other occupants in the meeting that did.

“Who is zat...boy wit' you?” The Orlesian woman turned her nose up at me, and not just figuratively.

“An agent of the Inquisition and a personal friend. I asked him here to help out with the troubles in Kirkwall...”

She harrumphed in disgust as she looked down at me. My clothing was not suitable to her taste. She didn't think I was very handsome, either. I didn't think she was very nice.  
  
“'E will 'ave to wait outside. Zis meeting is not for Darktown beggars.”

“He's not from Darktown, Lady Durand.” Varric was always good at remaining calm, even when his mind was a sea of rage, like it is now. “He's from the Inquisition, fresh off the boat, and he's also my gues...”

Another man stood this time, drawing everyone's attention. He was at the front of the meeting hall, a stern man with long, dark hair and immaculate clothing. He wore a simple, spiked crown on his head, marking him as the Viscount, though it was a crown he didn't want.

“You are welcome to invite your friend, Master Tethris,” he spoke with a calm, but stern voice that one did not argue against. “ _After_ he has been given proper attire. I simply can't have someone in his...condition in our hall.”

Aveline rolled her eyes, and Varric was clenching his fist again. The thought of the Arishok standing in this same hall throwing the head of the last Viscount crossed his thoughts, but he thought better of mentioning it.

“Head back to the Hanged Man, Kid.” Varric whispered to me. He had wanted to argue, to defend me, but he decided it wasn't worth it. I will never understand politics and protocol. “Change into your dress uniform and come back as soon as you can.”

I nodded and walked out, letting the heavy doors of the meeting hall slam behind me with an ominous thud.

* * *

 

I didn't like the walk back nearly as much as I liked the walk to. The streets were quiet, with only a handful of nobles here and there in Hightown. Most of which looked at me like I was a rat invading their home. I've been real long enough to expect such looks, but I'm still not quite use to them.

Lowtown wasn't much better, though my appearance didn't stop the merchants from trying to sell to me. I ignored them; they had nothing I wanted.

It was shortly after I stepped off the steps of Hightown and into Lowtown that I felt the pull. The pull of someone needing me It was here, but further in, past the Hanged Man. A cry of despair that needed my help.

The pull was pressing, pronounced, and I picked up my pace. It would take me past the Hanged Man, but Varric could wait. Someone needed my help more.

I could no longer hear Maryden singing as I neared the tavern, and I was both relieved and disappointed. I loved to listen to her, but at least I wouldn't have to worry about running into her.

Or so I thought. Her not singing didn't mean she was gone from the tavern, a realization I made just a little too late. She emerged from the tavern just as I passed by, her instrument slung over her back, and a satchel held in her hands. I didn't have time to hide.

“Oh...hello.”

Maker, I wish I'd asked Varric to explain women to me now.


	2. Slightest

Maryden didn't know me, but I knew her very well. We'd met many times in Haven and many more in Skyhold. She just didn't remember most of it.

The first time I met her was in Haven, before Corypheus attacked. I was still a spirit, looking for hurts to heal, and I felt the pain inside the tavern. It's not unusual to find hurts there, but this one drew me to _her_.

Even as a spirit, with no interest in the physical and emotional pleasures of love, I recognized her beauty. Her eyes were friendly and gentle, the color of a doe's fur against a clear blue sky. I knew her shadow-black hair was long, with small tight curls, but she always kept it restrained in an intricate braid. Her clothing - made up of a simple shirt, vest, and leggings - was worn loose and comfortable, never flashy or sensual. It made her unusual among bards; most liked to wear clothes and masks that made them stand out, but not her. When she wasn't performing she could easily blend into a crowd and no one would notice.

She was playing a sad melody, a song of loss, pain; a prayer to the “ _Maker_.” Even the song was about calling for help. Maybe that is why it called me. I approached her, knowing she wouldn't see me standing before her watching her play. She was fighting back tears, an ache in her heart, a knot in her belly, but she played the song with a soothing beauty that helped.

The song was not the source of her pain, but a symptom. _Hair of sunshine cut by her own hand. Laughter loud and licentious. Uncommon combatant for the common man. Refused, rejected, repelled. Why change the past, when you can own this day?_

I looked away from her to the far corner of the tavern. Sera sat there, scratching salacious shapes into the surface. I saw the source now.

Maryden's melody stopped, and I walked to her side, close enough to whisper into her ear. She still could not see me, but my words became her thoughts as I spoke to her.

_“Play the song.”_

She had lifted her instrument to play again, but hesitated. She had intended to play something else, anything else, but now my suggestion rang in her ears, source unknown.

“ _Play the song.”_

She had played it before, and swore she never would again. It hurt, but she needed to play the song again. She had to heal.

“ _Play.”_

With painful reluctance, she played the cords, and her voice rang out in a jovial tune. It told the tale of a rebel, rogue, and rascal, a girl who humiliated nobles and defended the defenseless. The kind of song that made the attendance tap their toes and sway their heads.

Sera looked up from her carving, disgusted. She got up from her table, running up the stairs to the rooms. I heard and saw Maryden falter, the pain made fresh.

_Don't stop, keep playing. Keep going.”_

She played on, giving the illusion of joy as her heart ached. Laughter filled the tavern, even if she could barely hear it over the noise in her soul.

She finished the song and placed her instrument over her shoulder and onto her back. Picking up a satchel from the ground, she headed out of the tavern. The drunks cheered their praises to her, but she barely registered their compliments. She walked out into the cold night air, and I followed her.

Her pace was brisk and steady. Past Varric sitting by a fire, past the merchants hawking their goods, and past the gates out of Haven itself. She ignored the guards as they trained under Cullen, and walked over to the frozen lake. There she stepped out onto the unusable dock, sitting down on the edge and looking onward.

She shivered in the night air, and she hugged her body for warmth, watching her own now-visible breath float across the windless lake. She felt warm tears form in her eyes and she enjoyed her imagined solitude.

“She doesn't define you, Maryden. You are loved by many.”

My voice was soft and soothing, but it still startled her, and she stood up, staring at me in shock. It was the ideal time for me to help, so I allowed her to see me. Her illusion of solitude shattered, she gawked.

“What?”

“Sera can be crass, thoughtless, but she is only one. You are gentle and kind, and your songs help the hurting. You are more.”

“I...” The words trapped in her throat, and she swallowed, gathering her thoughts. “I wrote the song to impress her. I had hoped she'd...” She closed her eyes, her head falling with a sigh.

It hurt, but she wanted to let it out. “I first met her in Val Royeaux. I found her exciting, fun, and I wanted to be a part of her adventures. I thought she'd like it if I wrote a song about her.”

She didn't say them out-loud, but depreciating words filled her head. “It wasn't stupid or foolish. Sera does not appreciate your song, but many others do. Think of _them_ as you play the song. Think of how much it means to _them_ .”

The tension seeped out of her slowly, her shoulders falling and a slight smile graced her lovely face. “I don't know who you are, Ser, but thank...”

“ _Forget.”_

The memory and sight of me left her, and my words became just another voice in her head. I didn't have much contact with her after that. The Inquisition struggled with war, demons, and politics, so there was plenty for me to do without going to the tavern.

It wasn't until we moved to Skyhold – driven there by a false god and his mage army – that I made contact with her again. The tavern had a sunny window that was perfect for attracting spiders, and after setting the freshly-peeled plums by the windowsill, I opened my mind to the patrons there. I didn't fully understand why people came here, but as their emotions manifested to me I discovered the reason. The music, the company, and the drink made them feel good. It helped.

I couldn't do much with the drink, and too many patrons found me too creepy for company. The music, though...I hadn't considered helping there. I listened to her play, standing in front of her, unseen, like I had in Haven.

She was not the first bard I'd met, but the others were cold, calculating, and crooked. Their music was a lie, designed to make people vulnerable so you would know where to hurt them. Orlesians called them spies as well as bards. I learned to steer clear of them, even sabotage them if I knew they'd hurt someone.

Maryden was different. She used her music to help, with no intention of hurting or spying or making others vulnerable. She made herself vulnerable through song, instead.

I felt the pull, pronounced, the pain of a patron; a templar, one of the softer ones. His head was full of doubt and fear. Did he belong? Is this what the Maker wanted of him? Was the Herald real?

I approached Maryden, leaning in to whisper in her ear.  
  
“ _Rise_.”  
  
It wasn't a request to stand, and she understood the real meaning behind the word. She could not see me and she would quickly forget the strange young man that whispered the word in her ear. The word became an echo in her thoughts, encouraging her to play the song; a song of guidance, leadership, the one who could save everyone from the Breach in the sky.

Find me still searching,  
For someone to lead me.  
Can you guide me,  
To the revolt inside me.

The templar turned to watch her, wanting to see her song as well as hear. It answered his doubts, and fulfilled his longing. He knew now, and was comforted.

He was not the only one. The song brought joy and comfort to many. Maryden didn't know, but I did. I helped her help people.

She had hurts of her own, but she turned those hurts into music that helped others. I didn't know you could do that and I didn't fully understand how that worked. Hurt and help were opposites; how could one be transformed into the other? She did it, though, so I became reluctant to remove her pain and fear.

But there was one memory I erased from her. It caused me pain, too. It still does.

Her pain called to me that day, and I found her sitting in her room at the tavern. It was small, but brightly decorated and clean yet cluttered, with stacks of papers lined across the desk and floor. They were filled with her songs, placed to paper where they became real.

She appeared calm as she held one such song in her hands, but there was confusion and turmoil within her.

_'Could it be true?'_ She did not speak aloud, but her mind spoke the words as clear as day to me. _'Does the Herald of Andraste consort with a_ demon _?_ '

She had no memory of me, but her words spoke of me. I saw it in her thoughts, drinks with Varric in the tavern just moments before. She was writing a song about us, about the Inquisitor's friends and companions, and they got to me.  
  
_“So then there's the Kid, Cole. You probably don't remember him. Solas says it's because he's a spirit, but he's strangely like a person.”_  
  
His next words were a blur to her, stifled by the fear she hid from the dwarf. Memories of the Breach and demons pouring out occupied her thoughts, filling her with terror; memories of pain and loss. I'm not a monster, I'm _not_ , but she only knew of the bad spirits; the demons. She didn't know.

I made her forget me; forget what Varric told her. I'm not in her song about us, but it is better that way.

For awhile she didn't know of my existence. Then the day came when I confronted the templar that killed me, killed the real Cole, and I was forever changed. I became real, human, and it all became harder.

I walked into the Herald's Rest, Varric beside me, a hand on my back for comfort as I entered. I was hurting, the agony filling my thoughts, drowning out all others, but I still saw it. Or they saw me. Everyone. They could all _see_ me.

The song stopped and they all stared. Including Maryden. She thought she was seeing me for the first time, and in her mind she was.

“Ignore them, Kid. Just keep moving.”

I had been walking slowly, hugging myself to try and ease the pain, but Varric's words had me moving faster, escaping, running up the tavern stairs to my loft where I could hide. Varric didn't know, he didn't realize at first that I was visible. He was already used to me being human, but my own realization was frightening.

Everyone could see me. I could no longer make people forget. Varric taught me how to hide in a world where I was no longer hidden, but I struggled to help. I could still hear the pull of the patrons, but I couldn't whisper to Maryden without her seeing me.

How did I tell her which songs to play without her noticing?

A piece of parchment, a pen, and an inkwell (as well as a distracted Josephine) and I had all her songs written multiple times on paper. I sliced it into strips with a dagger, and folded each piece neatly. Every day, several times a day, I passed a small note to Maryden. Each time, she would find the note set gently on a barrel or table near her, and she'd read it. I was already out of sight, patiently watching and listening from a distance as she played the song I wanted; the one the patrons needed to hear.

It worked...for a while.

I had grown careless. A young, sad child needed a song of courage to make him happy again, and I pulled an “ _Empress of Fire_ ” note from my pocket. She had just finished a song and had sat down, turning her back to me so she could take a sip of her favorite mead. I slipped the note to her as she was turned away, and started up the stairs.

My hand had barely left the slip of paper before it was seized, and my ascent ceased. She was fast; I didn't even see her hand move until it had already grasped mine. I could only make a quick intake of breath as I saw her turn to look at me.

“So it's _you_ who's been leaving me notes.” Her voice was full of mirth, and her hand on mine was not restrictive or restraining. It was her eyes that kept me there, held like shackles to her presence.

“I....yes.” I swallowed a lump in my throat, my heart pounding hard and loud. A part of me wanted to flee, and there was nothing stopping me except...I don't know... _something_.

She smiled, a sweet song by itself. “You don't have to use notes, good man. If you would like to request a song, you need only ask.”

She released my hand, picking up the note off the table. I watched her, transfixed, as she opened the folded paper and read the note, pursing her painted lips. She set the note down before standing, picking up her instrument and playing my request.

It took a moment for me to realize that I hadn't moved, my hand still hovering over the barrel where she had held it. As the music started, I woke from my trance and ran up the stairs as quickly as I could.

I never requested another song after that. It wasn't the last time I saw her, though.

After defeating Corypheus, there was a lot of celebrating. The part of me that was still Compassion wanted to ignore it and keep helping people. I didn't like being in large crowds anyway. But the part of me that was me wanted to celebrate, too! I was there when we killed him and I wanted the revelry, relief, rejoice. I needed happiness for _me_ this time.

Josephine had been planning this celebration for a week, but part of the party started before planned. The tavern was empty, save a handful of servants whose duties would not be required for the rest of the day. Half-a-dozen, human and elven alike, with various wines stolen from the kitchen.

And Maryden was there, too.

“That is not how the lyrics to the song goes!”

She had her lute out, and I could hear the music before I came down the stairs, but I didn't hear the words.

“Mine are much better!” The elven servant took another swig of the bottle, laughing at his own terrible jokes. “Your song didn't have enough sex and cussing in it. I fix'eded it.”

“You over-fix'eded it.” She copied his stutter.

They both laughed boisterously, along with the others. Just like before I became careless, forgetting for just a moment that I was no longer invisible; no longer an unseen observer. So Maryden spotted me...again.

“Oh! Hey...you! You, hey!” She didn't know my name, so I was temporarily a “Hey You.” I froze as she jumped up, grabbing a bottle from the elf-man's hands and tripping on her own drunken feet as she rushed towards me. “I know you! You're the one who passed me notes at the tavern!”

“Y...yes.” She came towards me until she was directly in front of me. My hands twisted in front of my chest, but my eyes were fixated on her.

“Notes?” One of the other servants, a human woman this time, let out a loud, drunken laugh. “What kind of notes? Love notes?”

Maryden laughed at the servant. “Oh yes, they were very saucy.”

_What? They were not!_ That's what I wanted to say. It didn't come out of my mouth.

“Hah! Saucy?” The elven servant took another sloppy swig from the bottle. “I'll show you 'saucy.'” The elf man leaned over to the human woman next to him and kissed her – a lot – and she eagerly returned his clumsy, carnal caressing that spoke of more than just 'caressing.'

Maryden gave a snorting laugh as she watched her friends groping each other. “I thought you were only planning on drinking.”

“We _are_ drinking.” He broke the kiss just long enough to speak, and then they went right back to 'drinking.' It was a display of debauchery I'd seen many times before, but this time it made me very uncomfortable.

So I turned my attention back to Maryden. She was close. _Very_ close. I could smell the wine on her breath, mixed with the scent of lavender. I thought looking at her would make me more comfortable, and I suppose it did. But it didn't

She gave me a coy smile. “Perhaps a drink with me? To celebrate?”

Just like with her friends, it wasn't the mead she meant. Her presence made my heart beat, my hands sweat, and my stomach tie up in knots. I'm not supposed to like those feelings, but this time I did. She was always beautiful, but I couldn't remember her being quite this desirable before.

Part of me wanted to say, ' _Yes_.' The part of me that was me wanted it...but...

“No...thank you.” I choked out. I had enough reason to know this was too soon. Too complicated.

“Oh,” she took a step back, mock disappointment on her face; real disappointment buried deeper.

“No, no, It's not...I'm not...” She felt rejected. I didn't like being the cause of her pain. “I'm...not ready. I'm sorry.”

She gave me a confused look, before laughing. “Not ready? You look like a grown man to me; how old are you?”

I was very confused. I'm not sure what age has to do with this. I also didn't really know how old I was. Spirits don't keep track of time like that. I could try guessing, I guess.

“Um...five...I think?”

She laughed. I think I guessed wrong.

“Well, if you are only five, then I guess you're really _not_ ready.” She stepped away from me, taking another drink straight from the bottle before rejoining the other servants. She apparently thought I was joking. I suppose that's better than her thinking me a fool. I couldn't get out of there fast enough.

I didn't speak to her again after that.

* * *

 

She stood before me now, freshly emerged from the Hanged Man. The same feelings I had that day – a pounding heart, a thickness in my throat, tightness in my chest – it was all there now. I found myself held prisoner by her gaze.

“I remember you.” She stepped towards me, and I resisted the urge to take a step back. “You used to pass me notes in the Herald's Rest in Skyhold.”

She didn't mention the kitchen incident. Maybe she forgot. I kind of hoped she forgot. “I...yes.”

She gave a brief laugh. “Such a sweet gesture, yet you stopped. Why?”

“I...don't know.” It was the truth. I didn't know why, except I was afraid.

My answer confused her, but she didn't press. “I saw you speaking to Varric earlier. He mentioned a friend of his was coming to Kirkwall, but I didn't realize it was you. You're Cole, yes?”

“Yes,” I repeated.

“Greetings to you, Cole. I am Maryden.”

“Hello.”

The sound of the Hanged Man's sign creaked, and the angry squeaks of fighting rats were all that pierced the silence. I think she expected me to say something besides “hello,” but I had no idea what I wanted to say.

She frowned, shifting her weight awkwardly. “Well, it was a pleasure, good man, but I'm performing at Lady Lindor's estate. Perhaps we will meet up again sometime.”

She readjusted her satchel on her shoulder and proceeded to walk past me, towards the outskirts of Lowtown. I watched her, wanting to say something, convince her to stay, perhaps a little longer. I don't even know why. I had tried so many times back at Skyhold to talk, just _talk_ , to her and I could never bring myself to do it.

“Wait!”

She stopped, turning to face me curiously. “Yes?”

My plea gave me more time, but I still struggled with what to say. Should I ask to go with her? Should I ask her to stay a moment? Why was this so hard?

Then I felt the pull again. I had briefly forgotten about it, but now I knew what to say.

“You said if I wanted to request a song I need only ask.”

She looked confused at first, then remembered. “Yes, I suppose I did.”

“I'd like to request a song.”

“Now?” She was in a hurry, my timing was inconvenient, but she also wanted to help. She was a lot like me.

“Later would be too late.”

She sighed, pulling her instrument from her back to hold. “Alright, what would you like me to play, Cole?”

“This way.”

I took off down the street, briskly at first, but I had to stop. She wasn't following, and I turned back to find her staring at me with baffled eyes. “This way,” I repeated. “I'll show you were the song must be.”

I had to hurry. The walk was wide and winding, and the wisp of a worry was weakening. I looked back every once in a while to find Maryden still following, still confused. There was no time to explain, and I'm not sure I could.

A sharp corner, and downward steps lead to a place of great poverty, pessimism, and pain; Kirkwall's Elven Alienage.

Only now did I slow down. The buildings were rundown and in desperate need of repair, the place smelled of sickness, sewage, and death. The elves were overworked, their already thin bodies frail and scarred from their abuses. They spotted Maryden and I, and we received looks of confusion, fear, and even anger. _Shemlens_ as they called humans, rarely came to the Alienage, and they rarely did so out of kindness.

I could sense more than see Maryden's fear from behind me as she gazed about. She didn't want to hurt anyone anymore than I did, but she saw the elves glaring, knew she was not welcome. She came closer to me, close enough for me to feel her body heat on my back. It made my heart pound again, but I tried my best to ignore it. I needed to help.

In the center of their home, a giant oak, a rare source of beauty and peace in an ugly slum. It stood taller than the buildings, its trees offering shade from the afternoon sun. Its base was beautifully decorated with painted art and candles of reverence. I approached the tree, looking up at its branching, watching a small bird feed its family in a nest just above us.

“This is where the song needs to be.”

“Here?” She was beside me now, her body facing the tree, but her eyes on me.

“Yes.”

“You want me to play for the Vhenadahl?”

I smiled, shaking my head. “The tree doesn't need your song, but you can play for it if you wish. It would like that, and others will still hear.”

Her shoulders relaxed, and she picked up her instrument again. She sat down on a nearby crate, one that didn't hold a sacred candle, and began tuning, tightening, and testing.

The elves still glared or cowered, but some stopped to observe. Many were conflicted, not sure if they should tend to their duties or sate their curiosity.

“What song would you like me to play, Cole?”

“You know which song to play.”

It was an old song, one she sang many times at Skyhold, but that version was newer, translated into the language of the humans. She needed to sing the old one, a song of perseverance through pain. A song sung in its original form; in elven.

She strummed the cords, her fingers creating the somber tune of _I Am The One._

Heruamin lotirien  
Alai uethri maeria  
Halurocon yalei nam bahna  
Dolin nereba maome

She didn't know the magic she held in her fingers and her voice; magic that could rival even the Grand Enchanters.

The elves no longer questioned why a shem was here. They gathered now, the desire to hear her sweet songs trumping their duties. Their fear and anger faded, forgotten; they listened. Their hearts lifted, even as their bodies sank to the ground. Young, old, man, woman, street sweeper and merchant all came to hear her. They couldn't help it. Few could.

Ame amin  
Halai lothi amin  
Aloamin Heruamin

Everyone here benefited from the song, but there was one in particular, the one that pulled me, the one who so urgently needed it more than anyone. A small elven child in a dirty dress and a dirt-streaked face ran up to Maryden, her large eyes wide with wonder, her hands grasping her own instrument of music. The vielle was damaged and crudely repaired, but she was eager to play it. Placing the instrument to her neck, and raising her crude, homemade bow, she followed Maryden's lead.

The girl was not as good, and the instrument protested, making noises that sometimes made me cringe. Maryden only laughed, playing and singing on, slowing down at times so the child might follow more easily. But they didn't stop, and the crowd continued to gather, to listen. Even the irritating song of the novice was a welcome sound here.

There was no applause when they finished, but there were many whispers and voices of approval as they looked at the two musicians. The elven child smile up at Maryden and she smiled back.

“A fine performance! What shall we play next?” she asked the child affectionately.

The girl's face fell in thought, and she tapped her crude bow to her mouth in an adorable gesture of contemplation. Finally, she remembered and without words she raised up her vielle and began playing again.

It was once again crude, cringe-worthy, and clumsy, but the music and melody was undeniable. It was jovial, the kind of tune that made you want to dance, and many in the Alienage did just that. It wasn't long before Maryden recognized the tune, a simple one she learned as a small child, and she followed as well, her own fingers dancing to the sound.

Laughter and dancing swelled up around the tree. Even the birds on the branch joined in the revelry, chirping and flapping flightlessly. I lost track of how many songs played, how many elves I saw frolic to the impromptu concert, but it felt good to help them. I sat against the tree, just behind her and to her right, watching her play. She couldn't see me from this angle unless she turned her head, but I could see her, her beauty matched only by her songs. I always enjoyed listening to her, but it was only after I became human that I found I loved simply looking at her, too.

The sun was lower in the sky, and their last song was wrapping up. She had barely put her lute aside before the elven girl turned around and threw her arms around her in a hug. It took Maryden off guard, but she returned the hug with a pat to the girl's back. The child released her as quickly as she'd embraced her, running off to join her parents who waited proudly for her return.

“That was amazing!”

It took a moment for me to realize she was addressing me again. She stared, her face bright from exertion, and happier than I'd ever seen her. I liked seeing her like that.

“You helped them.” I returned her smile. “Helped _her_. Thank you.”

“I never played in an Alienage before. This was so much better than playing for royal courts and balls.”

She stood up, slinging her lute over her shoulder. She performed the motion with the grace of a dancer, choreographed perfectly in the moment. Then, in an equally endearing but less graceful move, she stumbled over the root of the Vhenadahl, barely preventing herself from falling flat.

“Ow!” Her voice held amusement, even as she hopped on one hurt foot. “I really should watch where I'm going.”

“The Vhenadahl loved your songs. It is sorry it tripped you.”

She looked at me strangely. I was getting use to that look. “You talk to trees?”

“You can talk to them, too.”

“Well, yes, I suppose. They just never talk back.”

I shook my head. “Yes they do, and you can hear it. The Vhenadahl is speaking to you now. You hear it, don't you? A song of sweet strength, singing support and sorrow.” I turned to her, our eyes meeting. “If we climb through our doubt, we can sympathize . ”

She cocked her head at me. “That's just in my head. I get songs in my head all the time.”

“Because everything sings to you, and you listen. It's how you create your songs, the songs that soothe, serene, satisfy. You hear them and play them so others might hear.”

She gave a skeptical smirk. “Are you suggesting I'm just copying the songs of a tree?”

“More like taking a piece of clay and shaping it into something beautiful. The song is raw, rough, rowdy, but you tame it, mold it, make it real. Make it better.”

She laughed again. “I should have known the man who passed me notes at Haven's Rest would be a sweet romantic, too”

“Is that wrong?” No one had ever called me “romantic” before.  


“Oh not at all. I like romantic, Cole.” She gazed back up at the tree. She considered what I said; a consideration that helped her see more. The rustle of the leaves, the singing of the birds as they called to others. And the tree itself...

“The tree sings to you now.” I grinned at her, a soft chuckle escaping my lips. “It likes you.”

She laughed as well. “Does it want to court me? I'll admit I am recently free, but I've never been romanced by a tree.”

I don't know if the tree likes her like _that_ .

Her eyes lit up with realization as I looked on. “I rhymed that! I didn't mean to rhyme that. I need to write that one down.”

She removed her satchel, kneeling on the ground so she could shuffle through it. A piece of parchment, ink bottle, feather quill; she knew exactly what she needed. Rather than try and dig deeper for her writing board she simply slammed the parchment onto the ground, opened her ink bottle, dipped her pen in, and began writing furiously.

It left her in an awkward crouched position on the ground, her face to the ground and her posterior in the air. It took a moment, sitting behind her, to realize that I was staring at her body the same way The Iron Bull stared at a barmaid. I quickly looked away, my face burning hot and my body reacting in ways that Varric said I should never talk about in polite company.

This is what I meant when I said looking at pretty girls made me feel strange. I didn't understand it. I've seen plenty of women before, clothed and unclothed, in similar positions and felt nothing. Why does it affect me this way _now_?

I was both relieved and disappointed when she finished scribbling, placing her stopper back on the inkwell as she carefully returned everything back to her pack. She brushed the dust from her trousers as she stood, turning to face me again with a smile. I prayed to the Maker she couldn't see my shame.

“You said something about helping _her_. Did you mean that little girl that started playing with me?”

I nodded, glad for a distracting conversation. “Yes. Her name is Linda. She found the vielle in a nobleman's trash. She repaired it herself, with horse tail, dried gut from her father's butchery, and the dream of helping others as you do. She tried to learn herself; terrible noises in the night that made her parents angry. They are poor, and they wanted to sell the instrument for food. And to stop the noise. She hid from them, not wanting to lose her work, her joy. It was only a matter of time before they would find her.

“And then you came, played your songs, and now her family understands. Now they know there is a better way than to sell away their daughter's dreams.”

Her eyes fell on me. “You know Linda?”

“No.”

It was not the answer she was expecting, and there was a confused silence between us for several moments.

“Then...how did you...?”

“She called to me.”

“You heard her crying from the Hanged Man?”

I almost answered her, as I had many times, but I stopped. _She didn't know._ Varric's words whispered to me again, that she didn't need to know what I was because of what I am now.

_But how do I explain my connection to the Fade?_ Even as I thought it, I could hear Varric's inevitable answer in my head. _You don't._

I turned my eyes to the ground as I spoke. “I...Varric told me about a girl in the Alienage who needed help. I was...on my way there when I found you.”

She relaxed noticeably, and I tried to hide my internal sigh of relief. “I see.”

She looked up at the tree again, her beautiful eyes glazed over with thoughts; thoughts I couldn't read. She wasn't hurting or fearful, at least. In fact, I could barely sense a strange, warm joy coming from her.

“Have you ever heard the story, ' _The Resourceful Lovers_ ', Cole?”

I searched my memory for what she meant. “I...think so. From the Storm Coast?”

She nodded, a mischievous grin on her lovely face. “The story of Galen and Elise. There are many different versions. My favorite is the one where Galen is promised by a mysterious mage that he will meet his one true love when the light of the quarter moon shines down on the Stone Tree. So he went there and stayed until night fell and the quarter moon was high in the sky.

“When the light finally fell upon the stone, Elise emerged from the trees. She was beautiful beyond measure, and he fell in love with her instantly. She knew he was fated for her as well, and they embraced before traveling together, hand in hand, towards his waiting ship, where they lived happily ever after.”

The version I heard said they drowned at sea afterwards. I decided not to mention that. “They were fated to meet. Lovers longing for a liaison in the light. Do you believe the story is true, Maryden?”

She spun to face me, a dance in her feet and a smile in her eyes. “I believe in fairy tales and serendipitous encounters.”

She was eluding to something, but I'm not certain what it was.

She turned to leave, hesitating only long enough to make sure I would follow her.


	3. Noble Duty

We arrived at the Hanged Man without incident and with little conversation; mostly polite things that I forget about now. I noticed through it all that the fog in my head wasn't so bad. I still struggled to read her thoughts, but I could feel her emotions through the cloud of my own. She was very merry and mirthful.

She stopped to address me as we entered the tavern. “Did Varric procure a room for you, Cole?”

Probably. “I don't know.”

“I guess we'll have to wait for him then.”

She led me to a table just outside the stairs leading to the upper rooms. It was near one of the fireplaces – warm and cozy like an embrace – but also far too visible to the rest of the tavern for my liking. I prefer hidden corners were I can see others, but they can't see me. I suppose it shouldn't surprise me that Maryden prefers to be visible, so I didn't protest.

She lifted the satchel off her back, reaching in to pull out a bottle of mead and a couple of small glasses. She whispered to me, quiet enough that only we could hear, but loud enough to be heard over the noise of the tavern. “Do not consume the swill they make.” She gestured towards the bar. “It's foul.”

She poured the mead into both glasses and passed one over to me. I reached down and picked it up, taking a sniff. I was accustomed to alcohol having a foul smell, like something rotted and gone bad, but this drink smelled of cloves and cinnamon. It actually smelled good, and I was tempted to take a sip.

But I didn't.

“Not right now, thank you,” I said to her as I put the glass down. As much as my friends pushed me to eat and drink, this was still one part of humanity I didn't want.

I saw the disappointment in her expression even as I felt it, and I stared down at the glass in front of me, letting my hat hide my face from view.

“Even a taste? I promise you it's good.”

There was something else behind the request, something deeper. I couldn't make it out, but it was enough to make me curious. I brought the glass up to my nose again, inhaling the spicy scent. It brought up memories of celebrations and joy. I really liked the smell.

I put the glass down again. “I'm sorry. I don't drink.”

She slumped her shoulders in defeat. “I wouldn't have expected a friend of Varric's to be a teetotaler.”

A new and familiar voice interrupted us. “He's not your typical friend, Diva.”

I thought our position in the bar would have made it impossible for Varric to sneak up on our table, but I was wrong. The dwarf sauntered up to us with his usual poise and confidence and sat down on a nearby chair.

Maryden lifted up the bottle of mead. “Cole and I were just sharing a drink while we waiting for you to come back.”

He saw the full, untouched glass in front of me. “Looks like you're having as much luck as I am getting the kid to drink.”

She took another sip of her own glass, a gesture meant to hide her disappointment with me. “I tried.”

He motioned for the bartender to bring over what he considered “real” drinks. “Weren't you supposed to be at Lady Lindor's party today, Diva?”

She flinched. “I...missed it.” She didn't want to go, but she didn't like shirking responsibility either.

“That's not going to go over well with the other nobles if you just skip out on your performances.”

She rubbed her face anxiously. “Something more important came up. I can apologize to her Ladyship if you would like.”

I couldn't help but smile at Maryden. It's rare to hear a person say playing for the impoverished elves of the Alienage was more pressing than a noble's celebration.

The drinks came, one for each of us. Maryden was right; the stuff here was foul. I took one whiff of the ale the barkeep set in front of me and gagged, my stomach turning in unpleasant knots. I couldn't push the vile thing away fast enough.

“Too much for you, Kid?” Varric laughed as he took a distastefully long swig of his own drink.

Maryden pushed her mug away as well without smelling it. She already knew she didn't want it.

“So, I'm glad you're both here. Makes this easier.” Varric put his drink down with a gentle clink, leaning back in his chair. “I know the guy who's in charge of the reconstruction of the city. He's an acquaintance of mine; Marquis Sommer De'Voir. Good business man, and normally a man of integrity and honesty. Very much the kind of man the rest of us mock over drinks.

“I say 'normally' because that's not how he's come off as late. I've tried to confront him about the slow progress being made on the city, and his responses to me have been dodgy at best, outright lies at worst. And he's a terrible liar, too, believe me.”

He took another drink before continuing. “So, here's the plan. His daughter is having a Name Day celebration, and I've arranged for Diva to perform there. This will give you access to his estate, and close access to the family. While there, I want the two of you to see what you can find out about Marquis.”

I nodded my approval, but Maryden wasn't so thrilled. “I'm not a spy, Varric!”

She had good reason to resist the label. She was a bard from Orlais, but not an Orlesian bard. Most were spies and assassins, using their talents to hurt people for the advancement of the nobles. She preferred to help. One of the many reasons I liked her.

“I never said you were. You can spy without being a 'spy' spy.”

“That's not how it works.”

“Look, Diva,” having finished his own drink, he reached across the table and helped himself to mine, taking another gulp before continuing. “It's for a good cause. You know part of that construction includes the Chantry, right? Kirkwall doesn't have a proper Chantry right now, and I'm asking you and the kid to find out why. You're doing the Maker's work!”

That softened her. Maryden was always a pious woman; it was the main reason she came to perform at the Conclave and then joined the Inquisition. She still didn't like the idea, though.

He continued when she didn't give a clear answer. “If it makes you feel any better, I mostly just need you to get the kid into the place. He's really good at reading people, so you can just perform and let him do all the spy shit.”

Her eyes turned to me, and I returned it, despite flinching inside. Did Varric really have to compare me to a spy? I'm only doing this to help.

I expected a look of disapproval from her, but all I got was curiosity. Her eyes bored into me, like they were going to find my deepest secrets and pull them out for everyone to see. I had to remind myself that she couldn't actually do that.

It was enough. “Alright, Varric. We'll see what we can do.”

* * *

 

Varric had procured me a room at the Hanged Man. It was one of the nicer rooms in the tavern, with what looked like brand new bed-sheets, freshly painted walls, and old but well preserved furniture. Still, I noticed some rotting floor boards and the foul smell of mold and mildew.

For now it was just me, sitting on a creaky bed, my hat sitting next to me on the pillow, alone with my own thoughts.

Before I became human, not being seen was how I stayed safe. Concealed and camouflaged, I could comfort without cowering. Being invisible has many advantages when so many hate you for what you are.

Varric disapproved of my dodging. ' _You could learn not to scare them so badly that they have to forget you.'_

I don't mean to scare people. _Strange boy, doesn't move right. Magic, mage, monster._ Making them forget was a mercy. Maryden didn't mind my mysterious movements and mannerisms; but she still thought my kind were monsters.

And I knew why. _Detonation, disaster, Ashes to Ashes. Haven is not a haven. Demons, monsters, pouring from the rifts, run, rescued. Nadisk!_

Her one hurt I didn't heal. She heard many songs, sparked, stirred, inspired. Letting her hurt helped others who were hurting. It was hard to refrain; she didn't deserve to suffer.

My thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door. “Cole?”

It was Maryden.

I had tried hard for the last year to avoid her and the strange way she made me feel, but now Varric had made that impossible. I would be going with Maryden, using her access to nobility to find out what was keeping Kirkwall in despair and disrepair. Still, even as part of me wanted to run and hide when she came around, another part of me yearned to be near her.

I opened the door just enough to look out. She was still wearing her standard attire, with her lute strapped across her back.

“Are we going now?” It felt early, but I was never very good at telling time.

She shook her head. “Not yet. Varric agreed to pay, so I thought we could prep in town before the party.”

That sounded like Varric. I opened the door, hiding behind it at she entered the room. I'm not sure why I was hiding when she already knew I was there. She didn't even bother to look for me, but chose to survey my room instead.

“Varric keeps telling me you and I got the better rooms in this tavern, but I wonder sometimes.”

“We did,” I assured her as I closed my door. “The others are much worse.”

She shuddered a little. “Maybe I _should_ have taken a room in Hightown.”

“Varric wouldn't like that. All the taverns there are owned by the Merchant's Guild.”

She turned to face me. “Doesn't Varric work for the Guild?”

“Yes, but he doesn't want to. His brother used to do all that.”

She nodded at me, taking another glance around. From the cute way she wrinkled her nose, I got the impression she found the smell.

“Remind me to stop and get you some incense while we are out.”

I didn't have much; didn't need it, so I wasn't sure what she could be looking for. Her fingers brushed against my hat sitting on the bed. It was made from an old soldier's helmet, with a large strip of leather giving it a wide brim large enough to reach either side of my bed. The metal was dented, and the leather had holes in it, but I loved that hat.

“You brought your formal uniform from Skyhold, yes?”

“Yes.”

“May I see it?”

My satchel was under my bed, and I had to approach her to get to it. She moved out of my way, but her proximity still made my heart pound. _'Will I ever get use to this? I don't know.'_

I removed the boots first, then handed the rumpled piece of cloth to her. Maryden grimaced before taking it from me to un-rumple.

“You know, your pack isn't really the best place to store a formal uniform.”

“Sorry.” I was never very good with clothes, either. Josephine tried to teach me at the Winter Palace, but it was all too strange for me. “Will I have to wear a mask?”

She gave a short laugh. “No, this is the Free Marches, not Orlais. They don't wear masks here.” She began folding each disheveled piece, laying them gently on the bed. “Granted, I'd prefer the elegant style of Orlais. Kirkwall style is, how should I put it... _tacky_.”

I never quite understood words like “tacky.” I knew it was used to describe fashion and style in a negative way, but not quite how. Dorian and Vivienne described my hat as “tacky” at times.

“Can I wear my hat?”

I was hopeful, but I gathered from the expression on Maryden's face that she didn't think it was party-appropriate. “Um...no.”

That made me sad, and I cast my eyes to the ground. I wasn't allowed to wear my hat at the Winter Palace, either.

“I'd get you a new one, a nice one, but the hat shop was destroyed with the Chantry. You'll have to do without for now.”

She finished folding and picked up the pile of clothes in the crook of her arm. “It's a good thing I came early. We can take this to a tailor and have it pressed before the party.” With that said, she walked past me and out of the room.

* * *

 

Have I mentioned yet how much I don't like the Inquisition dress uniform?

I was standing in front of the mirror at the tailor shop, adjusting the outfit over and over. The uniform was blood red, with gold embroidery, a blue sash, and leather shoulders and boots. Tailors had made sure to fit it to my shape when it was first made, but it still felt itchy and restrictive.

I rolled my shoulders, buttoning and unbuttoning the front for what must have been the tenth time today. Even I had to admit it was a gesture brought on by emotional discomfort more than physical. Hours earlier, Maryden had dropped the uniform off here to have it cleaned and pressed. Everything was smooth and looked as it should; except for the neck cuff I left unbuttoned in the hopes no one would notice. Closing it made the collar rub against my Adam's apple.

My old leathers lay on a nearby bench, and I couldn't help but look at them with longing. ' _It was only for the party,_ ' I reminded myself. I go in, find out what Varric needs to know, and I can go back to the inn and change. I'd probably change right there at the ball if stripping nude in public wasn't frowned upon.

I never quite understood the human need for modesty. The world would be a much less complicated place if we didn't have to worry about clothing. Of course, this lead to thoughts of Maryden naked, and me naked in front of her, and I suddenly understood the need...

Still, I really didn't understand the kind of etiquette and protocol that was purely designed to make people uncomfortable.

“Are you ready, Cole? I'm coming in.”

I saw the door open just a crack as she peeked inside, seemingly to make sure I was dressed, before opening it wider to let herself in.

Her eyes looked me up and down, making me squirm inside. She gave an approving smile, which made me feel slightly better.

“How does it feel?” she asked as she approached me.

“I like my other clothes better.”

She sauntered up to me, reaching her hands out to take my collar and button it. She was the same height as me, but her head was down as she focused on my neck. She was close enough for me to catch the smell of oatmeal and sweet cream coming from her hair. I liked the smell, but it was not the source of the lavender scent that I associated with her.

“I don't blame you.” She looked up at me, taking the sweet smell with her. “I hate dressing up. One of the many reasons I love being a bard. No one expects me to conform to dress codes.”

I wish I was a bard.

“I normally dislike these uniforms, and yet,” I saw a slight blush spread across her cheeks as she looked at me, “I think it looks quite good on you, Cole.”

I opened my mouth to respond, but she had already turned away from me, quickly gathering up my old clothes before exiting the room. I think she was deliberately hiding her face from me. I think her own comment embarrassed her.

I left the dressing room as well, where I found her already talking to the tailor.

“You...want me to clean and press... _these_?” The tailor - a tall, partially balding man with a tiny mustache and a really loud orange and blue striped shirt – picked up my tattered tunic and looked at it with discernible disgust.

“Your skill's sufficient for the job, I take?” she responded politely.

“Pardon me, Messere, but I'm starting to wonder if Master Tethris really wanted his funds spent on caring for... _this_.”

“Did you receive Master Tethris' orders?”

“Yes, Messere, but...”

“And did they not tell you to clean Cole's garb?”

“Well, yes, b-but...”

“Well, stop your dawdling ways and get to work!”

The man shook his head, muttering something about the dirt being the only thing keeping my clothing together. He picked up my old garments like you'd pick up a dead rat by the tail, and took it into the backroom.

“You didn't have to do that.” I said as I walked up to her. “I clean them myself.”

She glanced back at me, her expression unreadable. Her mind had a fog to it similar to the one I was suffering.

“I'm...not sure why I did that, actually.”

* * *

 

Most of the party attendees were to be greeted at the front door by the Marquis himself, but Maryden was there to entertain - not to be entertained - so we arrived early and through the servant's entrance.

We were met at the door by an elven woman, the Head Host. She was an older woman, with dyed, fiery hair, wearing a polka-dot green dress accented with white lace and frustration.

“Oh, good, the minstrel is here. Come in, come...who's this?” She gestured towards me.

“This is Cole. He's assisting me today.”

Suspicion flashed across her face, but she was far too stressed to question it. “Fine, fine, but don't expect any additional payment. We only hired you.”

She gestured us into the main hall, where elven servants scrambled to set up chairs, tables, and food. Some of the elven servants spotted us with recognition from the Alienage the day before. They turned to each other with excited whispers and an eagerness to hear her sing.

Arches that led no where spanned across the room and gold and cedar trim lined the walls. Tables laden with white-laced cloth were lined along the edges, already filled with cakes, _hors d'oeuvres_ , and drinks of all kinds. The polished oak floor was left bare in the center to allow for dancing.

There was a raised floor, a small stage on the far end where bands and orchestras could perform. However...

“I really don't care where you play in this room, as long as you stick to this room and keep the music going. Mistress De'Voir prefers happier and familiar music for her Name Day. None of those horrible songs about the Breach and the Conclave and other depressing nonsense you prefer to play.”

The hostess rushed off to berate a servant, leaving Maryden staring after her with a dreaded sigh. The Breach was a sensitive subject for her, and her tightened lips and glaring stare only emphasized her annoyance. She was already dreading the night. I hope I can help her.

“I've certainly had more hospitable engagements.” Maryden removed her lute from her back, grabbing a nearby stool so she could tune her instrument in peace.

“She's feeling overworked. De'Voir has been cutting his staff, but expecting her to do more and more with less. She doesn't want to be mean.”

She lazily plucked at her lute. “You pick that up just from what she said?”

No. “Yes.”

“Varric told me you were really good at reading people.” She didn't look at me at first, concentrating on strumming the strings and tightening the pegs. “I was wondering; what do you see when you look at me, Cole?”

Normally this would be an easy question to answer; she certainly wasn't the first to ask. Even the Inquisitor asked me this question once. But the thought of giving her a real answer made my face hot. I'm pretty sure it would be bad to tell her _everything_ I was thinking...

“I mean...you're very...um...” My mind was betraying me; constantly filling my thoughts with things I did not what to say to her. “Um...you smell good?”

That sounded weird.

Her laugh made me relax only a little. “That wasn't what I was expecting, but thank you.”

I tried to distract myself by looking around. The guests hadn't arrived yet, but the servants were bustling about getting everything prepared. It filled the ball room with frustration; flustered and fatigued.

I knew exactly what they needed. “The servants won't mind if you sing for them.” Maryden was about to put her lute aside, but she stopped as I spoke. “The music will help them work.”

She gave me a sigh and a smile before picking up her lute again. “I suppose I can play a few songs for them. Is music your solution to everything?”

“No.”

She played “ _Empress of Fire._ ” It was a song that wasn't always accepted without contention, as the Orlesians once ruled all of Fereldan and the Free Marches. Despite Kirkwall being independent, the feel of Orlais still had a strong hold here, so no one seemed to mind.

It had the expected result. The servants' stress slipped away, and they worked with a skip in their stride and the lyrics on their lips. Even the hostess tapped her foot to the rhythm as she looked over her check list.

A few of the servants from other parts of the estate peaked their heads through the doors and archways, wanting to see – not just hear – the source of the music. Like a spell had been cast, the room went from feeling anxious and angry, to upbeat and untroubled. I was reminded of the times I used to whisper suggestions to her in Skyhold, a hushed word and her voice helped to heal the hurts. My voice no longer had to be a whisper; I could help her help them without hiding. This was so much better.

I had hoped it would stay that way, but as Varric used to say, “ _the sail breaks only when the wind is blowing your way._ ” Very pessimistic of him, but it was fitting to what happened next. I went from feeling the happiness and uplifting emotions of the people around me to...nothing.

Complete emptiness, like falling from a warm, comforting bed into a pool of cold, numbing water. I couldn't feel the emotions of anyone around me. Even when I focused and concentrated on individuals, I felt nothing.

I looked around the room, frantic. I had always had a fear of becoming so human I would lose my connection to the Fade. Is it happening now? I didn't think it would happen so suddenly.

No, that wasn't what this was. I was being blocked – deliberately – and it took only seconds to find the source of my obstruction.

It was a spirit. Not just any spirit; the one I chased out of the Barracks the other day. And it was staring intensely at me.

Our eyes locked for several moments. The helmet and armor it manifested made it hard to read its expression, but I could still recognize determination and curiosity in its stare.

I walked towards it, tepidly at first, before quickening my pace. It waited for me until I was only a few feet away, then it ducked behind the open door and out of sight. I panicked, fearful I would lose the spirit again, but as I turned the corner I saw it there, at the end of the hall, waiting for me. It wanted me to follow.

So I did. I had the strong impression I wasn't supposed to be back here - the living area of the family estate - but I had to know what the spirit wanted and why it was here.

The theme of gold, cedar, and useless arches continued down these halls. I saw doors on either side of me but I ignored them, focused on the spirit as it led me down the corridors. The fear that it might be leading me into a trap or make me hopelessly lost flashed across my mind, but I continued on.

It finally ducked into a room, slipping through the door like it wasn't closed. I stopped at the entrance, my hand reaching for the latch, still not sure what I would find.

The door was unlocked, and I entered the dark room unimpeded. The candlelight from the hall barely penetrated this room, and I could only see faint outlines; a large dresser that reached to the ceiling, a desk, and curtains framed by soft moonlight.

The spirit stopped here, waiting for me. It gave off its own glow – enough to make it brilliantly visible in the dark, but not enough to bestow light on the room's contents. It had stopped blocking my senses, and I detected no hostility from it, just that same curiosity and determination I saw before.

“Hello,” I greeted it in a friendly manner, though I couldn't hide the nervous tone in my voice. “Can you speak?”

“I can, Ser.” It responded with a deep and clearly male voice. The fact that he had chosen a gender and was not inherently hostile suggested he was not a wraith. Not a true one, anyway. Wraiths were weak, fractured spirits. This one was whole.

“Do you have a name? A purpose?”

It cocked its head inquisitively. “You are a spirit like me, Ser. Do you not sense my purpose?”

I shook my head. There was much unspoken communication between spirits, but in my case... “I lost that ability when I became real. May I have your name, please?”

It nodded its head, squaring its shoulders as though standing at attention. “I am Duty, Loyalty, and Allegiance. My purpose is to serve and obey, Ser.”

Duty? I'd only met one spirit of Duty before, one that inhabited the body of a dead horse. Needless to say, it didn't talk much.

This was also where I remembered that I was supposed to be annoyed with him. “Why...why are you blocking me? I'm just trying to help people.”

“Because I was ordered to, Ser.” His tone was matter-of-fact, as though it should have been obvious.

“By who?”

“I am not permitted to answer that, Ser.”

I know I used to be one but...spirits are strange. “What are you permitted to answer?”

“I am free to question, not answer, Ser. My Commander wants to know more about the spirit that is bound to Tethris.”

Bound? “I'm...not _bound_ to Varric.”

“You are his, are you not, Ser?”

“No, I am me.”

His voice had grown more forceful. He wasn't getting it. “Who summoned you, Ser?”

“No one. I summoned myself.”

“Who is your commander, Ser? Who controls you?”

“I don't have a commander or controller. I am me. I command myself.”

He was confused, for the moment, before realization showed in his featureless eyes. “Of course, Ser. You are not 'Duty,' you are 'Compassion.' I will try to remember that.”

He walked...no, _floated_ closer, standing only an arms-length in front of me. I could feel him peering into my very being, a gesture I'd used on so many others, but having it used on me was unnerving. So I resisted, not sure whether I blocked him in time or not.

From the vex in his voice, I think I did. “My Commander wants to know, how did you take this form, Ser?”

What? “This form?”

“You're body is human, Ser, but not stolen. You are of one mind and soul, a spirit's soul. How?”

It took me a minute to realize what he meant. I could tell him what I know, even if there is more that I don't. But should I?

No. “I'm sorry. I can't help you.”

“You can't, Ser, or you won't?”

“Both.”

He didn't like that answer. His color changed from the green of the Fade to the red of rage, but he restrained. Even so, I felt my hand reach for the blade that was not at my belt or back. Another flaw with this pretty uniform. With my blades, I could easily defeat Duty; he was not a strong spirit. Without them...

A noise interrupted us from down the hall. Voices echoed and footsteps on wood became louder as they came closer.

Instinctively, I ducked behind the open door, crouching in the darkness, with only the crack from the door frame to see through. I could also see Duty, who had positioned himself so he could see me and the outside. I was baffled at first, before I remembered that they couldn't see him. I miss that ability at times like this.

“...But you've come so far this last year. I want to indulge a little.” The voice was male, with the gruffness of age but the smooth tones of nobility and privilege.

“I hate frivolity like this.” This was the voice of a woman; younger than the Marquis, but with a rough edge that spoke of hardship, guilt, and unresolved pain. “All this time and money could be better spent elsewhere.”

Duty was back to blocking me, so the sounds of their voices were the only things I could distinguish. I didn't need my mind-reading abilities to know that I was hearing the voice of Marquis De'Voir, though, and his daughter. I pressed closer to the wall, hoping to hear more.

“I can't think of anything less frivolous than celebrating my only child.”

They stopped in front of our room and I got my first glimpse of the Marquis. His broad build was extravagantly dressed in a blue, bejeweled tunic and ruffled sleeves. His wavy hair and well-trimmed beard were the color of toasted wheat, and his countenance spoke of concern and love.

His daughter was still out of sight. The pain I heard in her voice made me want to delve deeper; find the source and help. All I got was her tone but it was enough to know she was in agony, so much she could not hide it from her loving father. I knew somehow I could help her if given the chance, but Duty denied me, blocking her thoughts as well as the Marquis.

I turned my ire to him, and he met my gaze, unblinking. I still could not read his expression, nor see his thoughts, but he only stared back. No other reaction. I guess he's immune to angry glares.

The voices became whispers I could barely hear. They sounded like words of comfort, and I could only hope they were enough. It wasn't long before I heard footsteps leaving, heading back towards the ball room. The celebration would be beginning momentarily and it couldn't start without the heads of the house.

As the footsteps faded away, I realized too late that I was hearing only one set. I was about to continue my conversation with Duty when I saw a shadow cast across the room. The Marquis hadn't left, just his daughter, and he was now standing behind the door, blocking the light from the hall.

“Duty?” My heart clenched. He could see the spirit, after all! “Why are you in this room?”

The spirit didn't answer with words. Instead, he looked and pointed directly at me.


	4. Songs, Secrets, and Scents

So much for hiding.

The Marquis stepped into the room, looking behind the door where Duty was pointing, but it was still too dark for him to see me. Not that it mattered.

“I know you are there, thief. You may as well reveal yourself.”

I didn't even have a chance to respond before the nobleman lifted his hand and snapped his fingers dramatically. Instantly, all the lamps and candles in the room lit up, bathing the dark room in blinding light. I brought an arm up to cover my eyes until they could adjust.

“There you are.”

I lowered my arm, still squinting from the painful light. I felt frighteningly frail, fragile, exposed. I wanted to flee, but I knew that wouldn't help.

He was staring at me, smug; Duty still beside him, expressionless. “You look familiar, boy. Have I seen you somewhere before?”

Duty answered for me. “Ser, if I may...” He paused only long enough to get a brief nod from the Marquis. “This is the spirit of Compassion I saw at the Viscount's estate. The one traveling with Tethris.”

He looked back at me, and his eyes lit in remembrance. “Ah, yes. You were with Messere Varric the other day when he burst into our meeting.” He looked me up and down, giving another self-satisfied smirk. “You are certainly better dressed than you were then.”

I didn't speak. I wasn't sure what I could say that wouldn't make this situation worse.

“Why are you here, spirit?”

I still wasn't sure if I should answer, but... “I'm here with Maryden Halewell. She's performing for your celebration.”

“It is not _my_ celebration, it is my daughter's,” he corrected me. “And your association with Serah Halewell doesn't explain why you are _here_ , and not in the ballroom.”

“Duty brought me here.”

I didn't have to read him to know he'd made other assumptions. Baffled, he looked to his spirit. “Really?”

“Yes, Ser.” At least I can count on Duty to tell the truth.

“Why bring him back here?”

“You wished to question him, Ser. I thought it best to do so away from the servants.”

“I see.” He turned back to me, and was silent for some time. I could tell he was thinking, reassessing his plan with all this new information. I just wish I knew what it was.

It was only then that I heard footsteps coming rapidly down the hall. “I guess that makes what must be done rather awkward, doesn't it?”

Two city guards rushed through the open door; an older, burly human and a younger elf man. They wore the traditional pale orange and steal colors of the city, not De'Voir's personal guards, but they had their swords drawn and were ready for battle. They addressed only the Marquis; Duty was invisible to them. “My Lord, we received word of an intruder!”

I don't know why, but I expected the Marquis to defend me, to tell them I wasn't an intruder or a thief. That's not what happened.

“Yes, quite right, soldiers. He's behind the door. I want him arrested immediately.”

They were briefly taken aback by his nonchalant demeanor, but only briefly. The larger man, who was obviously the leader, addressed me. “I suggest you come quietly, thief. We wouldn't want to shed blood in a noble house, now would we?”

I couldn't help but stare back at the Marquis, my mouth open in shock. I felt betrayed for some reason. He knew I wasn't a thief, and he knew I was only back here because the spirit he commanded led me here. Why was he doing this? Varric said he was an honest man. This wasn't honest!

“We'll speak later, ' _thief_.'” He emphasized the word as only someone who knew the truth could. “Perhaps we can negotiate something for your release.”

I knew it wouldn't do any good to appeal to the guards. I doubt my word would be taken over such an important figure. They had me trapped in every way, and I didn't see any other option but to comply.

* * *

My hands were shackled, and they escorted me from the room, one guard in front and one behind. Their swords were still drawn, as though daring me to resist.

I could hear the faint sound of Maryden's singing as we drew closer to the ballroom. Guests had just started to arrive, but the ballroom was sparsely populated. Still, the guards knew not to traipse a 'criminal” through the party. That would be a serious breach of etiquette, whatever that meant. It was a longer route, but we would be walking the halls along the edges in order to reach the exit.

My mind was filled with dread, but I did my best not to show it. I didn't like being imprisoned. I had been thrown into a cold dark cell before, and the thought of going through that again made my heart clench in my chest. My own fear at being imprisoned made it very hard to figure out how not to be thrown in prison.

I was so caught up in my own thoughts, that I didn't notice that the singing had ceased.

“Oh there you are! Where have you been, Cole?”

We all stopped and turned around. Maryden, her lute still in hand, rushed over to us, ignoring the guards flanking me.

“Serah, you can't...” She was standing in front of me before they could react further.

“For shame, my serf! You'd leave the party now? We can't run late. It's rude and untoward!”

Her voice was accusing, but her tone was that of an actor playing a role. She finally turned her attention to the guard in charge. “Be kind and hastily remove his bonds.”

“Serah, this man is a thief and an intruder. We have been ordered to...”

“A thief? Absurd would be too light a word.” She gave a hearty, rehearsed laugh. “I asked him to retrieve something I lost. It seems he lost himself while doing so.”

He didn't look convinced. I couldn't blame him; not only was Maryden too flamboyant to be believable, but it was her will against the Marquis. I only hoped she didn't get herself into trouble, too

To our surprise, it was the other guard that came to our aid. “Lieutenant? Ser? A word, please?”

He spoke in a loud whisper, but the guard stepped aside to speak to him. They still had their sites on me, but weren't doing much guarding at the moment.

I whispered to Maryden my confusion, “Serf?” She only shrugged, sheepishly.

Duty was no longer blocking me, so I was able to make out some of the conversation with the guards from the thoughts they projected.

“ _Thief or no, Ser, we can't arrest a member of the Inquisition!”_

“ _What the hell makes you think he's with the Inquisition?”_

“ _Remember last Harvestmere when the Inquisitor came to Kirkwall to close the Rifts? I was assigned as guard for the Viscount's meeting. I recognize the uniform.”_

“ _Really? Then why didn't you say something before? I didn't see the thief change uniforms.”_

“ _I wasn't sure before Serah Halewell came for him. What more proof do you need?”_

I guess these uncomfortable clothes are a good thing after all.

When the guards finished, they both stepped back to us, the Lieutenant practically stomping with his annoyance, while the private had a slight dance to his step. “Against my better judgment, I shall let the intruder go, for now. But if I catch him where he doesn't belong again, I will not hesitate to throw him in the dungeons.”

He pulled out his keys, and much to the relief of my wrists, he unlocked my shackles and marched away.

The Private lingered behind. “Please excuse me, Messere Halewell. I saw you perform at the Alienage the other day, and, well you were very good!”

She smiled, shyly. “Why thank you, Ser. Your kind words flatter me.”

He wanted to say more, about how much her singing helped and comforted the elves who heard her, but he was interrupted by the Lieutenant. “Private! We move!”

The younger guard nodded quickly but graciously to Maryden, before rushing over to follow his superior.

“Thank you,” I said to her as I rubbed my wrists.

“You are quite welcome. I couldn't sit back and let them imprison you. Varric would kill me.

Our moment of relief didn't last long. “By the Maker's holy ass, I _knew_ I should have listened to Lady Lindor about you, bard.”

The hostess was marching towards us furiously, and we both froze in shock.

“I thought I told you to keep the music going. Do you expect to do that while dawdling back here with your assistant?”

Maryden opened her mouth to speak, but she knew instantly it was worthless to argue. “I'm...sorry, Messere. I will return to the ballroom immediately.”

“You'd better. Don't let me catch you shirking again!”  
  
I think I understand now why she preferred performing at the Alienage.

She gave me one quick look of disbelief, emphasized with an aggravated sigh, before motioning me to follow her back to the party.

* * *

The Free Marches isn't like Orlais, and Kirkwall isn't like the Winter Palace. I somehow expected lots of fancy, eccentric dress, bejeweled masks, and The Game.  
  
Granted, there were still underhanded manipulations, beautiful contention, and fickle hierarchies, but there were no masks. The people of Kirkwall favored busy patterns, plaids, and stripes, mixing colors that should not be mixed. They hurt the eyes and confused the mind. Maryden was right; even I thought it all looked “tacky.”

The Marquis and his daughter, wearing matching blue finery, greeted each guest as they entered. Just like the Marquis, his daughter's thoughts were denied me. I could feel Duty's presence, but I could not find him as hard as I tried.  
  
I didn't have to read the Marquis to know he saw me still here, and he was not happy.

I shouldn't have stayed, but I had to. After what happened with the city guards, I did my best to stay near Maryden. She kept by her seat, but every once in awhile she would stand, and wander the crowd, her fingers always playing and her voice always singing. I followed when I could, keeping myself hidden among the crowds. Her songs kept the guests happy, but she grew tired, her voice strained, her fingers sore, and I could only do so much to help. We would both be glad when this was over.

As the party wound down, it became harder to hide in the crowds. Maryden wasn't singing anymore, her voice had given out a while ago, so she wandered the floor playing her lute. The next time she wandered through the crowd, I did not follow. The Marquis knew I was there, but I did not want to test my fate. So I held back, letting her play the last few songs of the evening before we would be allowed to part.

I had focused so much on him, that I didn't register the clinking of armor behind me.

“It's not often I get a tongue lashing from the Marquis himself.” The voice was more annoyed than hostile, and I twisted around to see Aveline, the Guard-Captain, freshly emerged from the kitchens. She leaned against the opposite side of the archway, looking at the dwindling crowds, but addressing me. “I swear you're as bad as Varric.”

“Sorry?”  
  
“Varric suggested I come here to check up on you two. I barely step past the threshold and I'm taken aside by the Marquis. Seems he greatly disapproves of my men refusing to take a thief into custody.” She finally directed her gaze to me, with the look of a mother chastising her child. “I'm assuming he means you.”

“Oh...yes...sorry.” I turned my gaze down in genuine penance.

She stood straight, motioning for me to follow her back through the kitchens. I wavered only long enough to see where Maryden was – on the other side of the ballroom – before following obediently.

“I don't believe we were properly introduced.” She didn't stop, only glancing behind her enough to see that I was following. “You are Cole, yes? I am Guard-Captain Aveline Vallen. I assume Varric told you about me.”

“Yes.”  
  
“And don't worry; I'm not here to arrest you.”

She walked past the curious servants, all busily washing dishes and preparing for clean up. I noticed a glass of water sitting on the counter and quickly snatched it from the table, hiding it at my side, before Aveline led me outside into the warm night air.

“Are you going to punish your guards?” I asked her the moment the serving door closed and I was confident we would not be heard.

She took a deep breath, “Not likely. I've got enough to deal with.”

That wasn't as much her reason for not arresting me as it was the reason she would tell De'Voir.

“Thank you.”

She raised an eye-brow at me, “You're welcome, though I didn't come here to do you any favors.” She faced me fully, arms crossed in front of her to remind me of her authority and respect. “I want to know what you discovered that has the Marquis so irritated.”

I was glad to see the Captain of the guard on our side.  
  
“The Marquis has a spirit of duty working for him. It was the spirit that led me into the back rooms, where I was caught.”

“A spirit?” Aveline didn't like that at all. She didn't like spirits much, including me to a degree. Her first husband was a templar, before he died, and she thought too much like them. She only tolerated me because of Varric. “De'Voir isn't a mage. How did he take command of a spirit?”

“I think he _is_ a mage,” I countered. “I think he summoned Duty to do something for him. I don't know what, but something.”  
  
Aveline shook her head. “It's going to take more than the presence of a spirit to convince me the good Marquis is an apostate. Still...”

She was interrupted by the door to the kitchen swinging open. We expected to see a servant there, but we were greeted by a very familiar minstrel instead.

Her voice was rough, ragged, run-down, but filled with concern. For me. “Cole! There you are. I was afraid you'd been arrested aga...”

She spotted Aveline at that moment, and she stood up straight, trying to be respectful. “Oh! Guard-Captain! Is Cole being detained?”

“No,” her answer was calm, even lazy. “I'm simply questioning him.” She turned back to me. “I will look into what you've told me, Cole. I will meet back with you and Varric at the Hanged Man.”

She nodded to Maryden before departing, leaving the two of us in the ally watching her go.

“So, how did...” she started, but her words caught in her throat. She'd been singing all night, and the work had taken its tole.

“Don't speak,” I said to her, as I lifted up the glass of water I snatched from the kitchen. “This will help.”

She took the glass from me with a soft smile, before drinking it greedily, stopping only to take a breath. It wasn't long before she had consumed the whole glass.

_'Thank you!'_ Her lips formed the words, but she wisely kept silent. Her voice would heal, in time. She just needed to rest.

* * *

We went back inside momentarily to gather our things (and for me to return the empty glass to the kitchens.) The hostess gave Maryden her payment, thankfully without incident, and we headed out.

I immediately reached up and unbuttoned the collar of my uniform, breathing a sigh of relief at this simple act of freedom. I couldn't wait to change out of my uniform and back into...

Oh wait... “Maryden, would it be alright if we stopped at the tailors?”

She looked at me, hesitant to answer. _'It's rather late...'_

It was easier to read her when she was projecting her thoughts directly at me. “He's still awake, and I'd really like to get my old clothes back.”

She looked at me questioning. _'How do you know that?'_

“Look, his light is still on.”

We had just rounded the corner, and I was able to point to his shop as proof. I didn't have to tell her that I didn't see it until after she “questioned” me.

We wandered over to the tailor shop. The sign outside said “ _OPEN_ ,” but the tailor had just opened the door to change it when we approached.

He was not happy to see us. “We're closed, bard. Come back tomorrow.”  
  
Maryden was about to speak, but I interrupted her. “We've come to pick up my clothes.”

He went from glaring at Maryden to glaring at me. “Can't this wait till morning?”

I shuffled my feet nervously. “I'd...really like them now.”

He looked at me with great anger and irritation, but then his face changed. He smiled. I wish he hadn't. It was not a kind smile.

“Alright, if you insist. Wait here.”

* * *

“Gah, what happened to you, Kid?”  
  
It was morning, and we were all meeting inside Varric's room at the Hanged Man. It was the largest and most extravagant, as Varric pretty much lived there full time. They had even preserved it for him during the year and a half that he was with the Inquisition.

Varric himself resisted the stereotypical dwarfy-ness that his kin embraced, but his room sang “dwarf” like no other in the inn. The large table, chairs, and even his shelves were intricately carved from solid blocks of stone, carved with dwarven runes. Even the pictures on the wall depicted scenes from Orzammar. He got most of the decorations from his family and the Dwarven Merchant's Guild, and he even he didn't know why he kept them.  
  
Varric scrunched his face and grabbed his nose as Maryden and I approached. “You smell like a powder room fucked a garden.”

I was grateful to be wearing my old clothes again. I know they're not as pretty as my uniform, but they were so much more comfortable against my skin. And now they were clean, soft, and even the metal part of my hat had been polished. Not so comfortable for my nose, though, which burned and protested. The tailor had his own creative - and smelly - means of taking revenge on us.

Maryden shook her head with a sigh. “Sorry, Varric. I think the tailor soaked them in his strongest perfumes before returning them to us.”  
  
“He did,” I confirmed. “He used all of his perfumes. At the same time.”

Varric cocked his head at the bard, before snorting out a laugh. “Wait, are you telling me you had Cole's old clothes _cleaned_?”  
  
Maryden sighed in regret and embarrassment. “Yes I did.”

We both waited patiently for Varric to stop laughing. It took awhile.

“Wow,” he wiped a tear from his eyes, waving his hand in front of his face in a futile attempt to dissipate the perfume. “Sounds like you guys had quite the adventure last night. Learn anything good?”

Maryden looked at me, and I took a deep breath – one I quickly regretted with a cough thanks to my fragrant clothing – before filling Varric in on the details of the party. I told him about Duty, the Marquis, the guards, everything I could remember.

He listened intently, becoming angry and clenching his fist only when I mentioned De'Voir.

“I just...can't believe it. How did a guy like him get his hands on a spirit?” He shook his head. “Did you get a read on him, Kid?”

I shook my head. “I'm sorry. Duty...makes it hard.”

“You did good, Kid. Both of you, in fact.”

I glanced at Maryden, sitting next to me. She'd gone unusually quiet after I told my story. I hadn't mentioned to her that I'd run into a spirit at the party and the thought of a spirit being there frightened her.  
  
I dared to reach my hand out and take hers, to comfort her in some small way. The touch startled her, but she didn't pull away, only looked at me in surprise. I gave her a comforting smile, and she returned it in kind.

Varric rubbed the back of his neck. “There has been speculation for awhile that the Marquis is a mage; an apostate that avoided the circle his entire life. I always thought it far fetched, but now...”

I nodded. “He snapped his fingers and lit the lights while I was there. I think he's a mage.”

A new voice joined in. “Or he's just has click-candles across his estate like every noble in town.”

Aveline didn't bother to knock before entering Varric's room. She simply came in, closing the door behind her. When she turned around, we all noticed she was carrying an enormous book – the size of her torso – under the crook of her arm.

Varric gave her a perplexed look. “What the hell is a click-candle?”

“An enchanted candle or lamp that lights when you make a specific sound, such as snapping your fingers or whistling. They became quite popular around the time you disappeared, Varric.”

“Really? I need to get me some of those.”

Aveline approached our table, slamming the book down with a loud thump next to Varric. The book didn't look very old, but it was well worn. I could see a distinct “ _A-E_ ” on the spine, but I wasn't sure what that meant.

“You can look into that later. For now, I think I found something that may prove usef....What is that _smell_?”

  
Maryden buried her head in her hands. She apparently blamed herself for the tailor's revenge.

Varric was sympathetic, but he couldn't pass up a chance to jab. “Maryden decided to have Cole's clothes cleaned. The cleaners were a bit...overzealous with the perfume.” He took a deep breath for emphasis, which sent him into a coughing fit. “Ah,” his voice was rough now, “it's like someone committed floral genocide with a spice rack.”

Aveline rolled her eyes at him. “Please tell me you're not going to grace us with these horrible metaphors all night.”

“I'm just getting started.”

Aveline resisted the urge to sigh, since that would require her to take a deep breath. A very bad idea in close proximity to me.

She sat down with us where she set the book, and opened it up to where she had marked it with a ribbon. “Cole told me at the party that the demon he met...”  
  
“Spirit!” I corrected her.

She gave me an annoyed look before relenting. “Fine, _'spirit'_ embodies 'duty.' So I decided to find out what I knew about them.”  
  
She placed her finger on a passage in the book and began reading. “' _Duty, also known as Fealty, Loyalty, Obedience, and Devotion, are spirits whose sole purpose is to obey and serve. They are exceptionally common, just as the want to follow and obey is common amongst men._

“' _In the Fade, they often cling to other, stronger spirits such as Pride, Faith, and even Wisdom. They are also a popular spirit for summoning as blood magic and other forms of binding are unnecessary with Duty._  
  
“' _On rare occasions you will find more powerful spirits of Duty that are not beholden to a master, but instead to an ideology or doctrine. These spirits do require binding if summoned and forced to perform tasks counter to their beliefs. These are the types of Duty most likely to be corrupted into demons._ '”

Varric interrupted. “That's all well and good, but what kind of abilities does it have that we should know about?”

Aveline skimmed through the page. “...Has no set abilities. Instead it takes on the abilities necessary to perform the tasks its master requires.”

Varric gave a loud, annoyed sigh. “Well, that doesn't help us for shit, does it? What about Marquis De'Voir? Did you find out anything about him?”

She closed the book, making sure the bookmark-string was still in place. “Not much more than you already know. He was assigned to lead the reconstruction of Kirkwall, which was progressing just fine until a few months ago, when it all stopped.”

Varric nodded. “Yeah, I did some asking around about that. According to my contacts, the building stopped due to lack of funds, but records at the keep show he is _still_ receiving funds from the city to continue building. Which means those funds have been lost, or stolen, somewhere between him and the builders.”

Aveline scowled. “Or he's stealing the money himself.”

“I find that hard to believe. Granted, I find it hard to believe he's a spirit-summoning mage, too, so anything could surprise me at this point.”

“Having a spirit in his possession doesn't automatically make him a mage, Varric.”

“I'd say it's pretty damning evidence, wouldn't you?”

“Varric, even _you_ have a sp...”

Varric kicked her under the table, much to her shock. She initially gave him a look that called for his execution. He responded by darting his eyes towards Maryden, and quickly shaking his head, sending a clear message to the Guard-Captain.

“I...” She cleared her throat to calm herself down. “Sommer De'Voir has lived in Kirkwall his entire life. That includes the entire reign of Meredith and her Templars. You don't expect me to believe an apostate could be living under their noses for that long without them taking notice?”

“Why not?” Varric said with a knowing shrug. “Hawke did.”

Now Aveline was getting annoyed. “De'Voir is no Champion.”

“He _is_ a noble, though.”

“What about his daughter?” I said, as a new idea came to me. “Maybe she's the mage who summoned him...”

Aveline disagreed. “Only if a former _templar_ is capable of summoning spirits.”

“Oh...” Not likely.

“Wait.” Varric sat up in his chair, staring the Guard-Captain down. “Brice was a _templar_? Why didn't I know about this?”

“She wasn't stationed in Kirkwall. With a father on the noble council, Meredith didn't want to risk favoritism. So she was assigned to Dairsmuid's Circle.”

Maryden spoke up. “Didn't the Inquisition ally with the Templars? Wouldn't that make her our ally?”

“Possibly,” Aveline responded. “Though I'm told she left the Order.” Aveline responded. “Not sure if that was before or after the Inquisition.”

Maryden nodded. “So what now?”

“Now,” Aveline turned her stoic glare on the two of us, sending a chill down my spine. “You and Cole do nothing. The Marquis was in my office first thing this morning, practically screaming his head off over allowing a 'thief' on his property to go free.”

That made me angry. “He knew I wasn't back there to steal.”

“So do I, and believe me, I wanted to call him on his bluff, but I didn't want to tip our hand either. Regardless, he's calling for Maryden to be blacklisted in addition to wanting to put my head on a chopping block. I still think your connection to the Inquisition will win out over these accusations, but I suggest the two of you stay out of trouble till we can sort this out.”

“Yeah,” Varric said as he took another swig of his drink. “Best you two lay low for awhile till things calm down. I'll keep you posted.”

“And I'd like to have a chat with Varric,” Aveline said, glaring at him.

Maryden stood up, and exited the room. I followed her, but I hadn't even closed the door before I heard Aveline address Varric.

“Are you out of your mind, Varric?”

“Are we playing Twenty Questions now? Is it an animal, vegetable or mineral?”

Maryden continued on, oblivious, but I stopped at the door, listening.

“Do you mean to tell me Maryden doesn't know that Cole is a spirit? Why would you keep that from her?”

I looked back at Maryden again, ensuring myself that she didn't hear. Thankfully, she was long gone.

“Cole isn't a spirit; he's human now.”

“Oh yes.” Even I could tell she was being sarcastic. “A 'human' who doesn't eat, sleep, or drink. Can read minds. Can sense pain...”

“He's a very special kind of human.”

“Varric...” She didn't like Varric's sense of humor.

I heard him take a deep breath, both to calm himself and Aveline down. “Look, Maryden was in Haven when the Conclave exploded. She had a rare, front row seat to the Breach pouring demons down on us like a glowy fountain of demony death. Do you want to be the one to tell her the kid was once one of them?”

I cringed at his last sentence. I didn't like to think about that...

“You were there, too,” she retorted. “You and I have both had terrible experiences with demons, but that didn't stop you from telling me what Cole is.”

“Ah well, there's good reason for that.” He took another drink from his glass; something I heard and sensed more than saw. “You see, while the Fade was giving us a lovely light-show, I had Bianca to keep me sane and safe. If you had been there, you'd have your sword, shield, and an attitude that would scare the piss out of any demon foolish enough to challenge you.

“But Maryden...she doesn't have a violent bone in her entire body. She's a minstrel, not a mercenary. I wouldn't be doing her, or the kid, any favors by telling her.”

There was silence in the room for awhile. I hated lying to her; it still didn't come naturally to me. But maybe Varric was right? Maybe lying, in this case, was simply an act of compassion.

“If it was just you who risked getting bitten in the ass over this, Varric, I wouldn't care so much.”

Varric's voice went low and barbed. “Your concern is touching.”

She ignored his scathing comment, her voice taking on a softer tone. “But for their sakes, I hope you are right.”


	5. Courting Cole

The docks were a welcome relief; relaxing, resting, reserved. Few people walked about, crates were sparse, and only the occasional ship docked. It didn't use to be this way; between the busy berths, big barges, and brash birds it was a booming belt. No longer.

The docks missed the busy – even the birds missed the busy – but it let me sit on a concrete ledge by the water and unwind. Not to mention air out; my clothes still smelled of spice and perfume.

The Gallows, the old Circle of Magi, was visible from here. There were no mages there now, all dead or fled when it was Annulled years ago. There were no templars there, either, unless you count Knight-Commander Meredith, who had turned into a statue of pain and rage. She made everything red, glowing, glowering, gloating, her curse spreading till it filled the ancient prison. It was filled with red lyrium, and I was glad it was too far away for me to hear its song. It hurt to hear it.

“Be careful up there, Cole. Do not fall in.”

I didn't have to look back to tell it was Maryden. “I won't.”

She walked up and stood near me to the side of the cement slab I was sitting on. I glanced over at her, noting that the braid in her hair was not pinned up, but instead fell down her back in a woven cascade. She was not wearing her usual brown and green vest, sporting instead the cream colored fancy shirt she wore underneath. It looked lovely on her; perfectly curving around her arms, her waste, her breasts...

I turned away quickly, my face going hot. Oh look, more birds! I like birds...

“I didn't think I would find you, but between the glint of your hat and the obvious scent trail you left...” She trailed off, and I dared to look at her again, making sure to look at her face this time. “Sorry, about the tailor, Cole.”

“It's not your fault. You were being nice. It was the tailor who was mean.”

“They do _look_ nicer, at least. Not to suggest they didn't look nice before, mind you, but...” She stopped herself with a sigh-like groan. She thought she said something wrong. I wasn't sure why.

“Yes. Thank you. If I stay outside, the smell will go away faster.”

“That's good,” she said with a nod. “Hey, would you like to do something for fun?”

I looked at her in confusion. “Fun? Us?”

“Of course. Just you and me. What say you?”

“I don't know. Is it like when the Inquisitor took me to do something fun?”

“Uh...maybe?” Something in her voice changed, but I couldn't quite put my finger on what. “You and the Inquisitor?”

“Yes. He took me to Val Royeaux for cheese and wine.”

“I see,” She sighed through her nose, no longer quite as excited as she as before. “So...you and the Inquisitor...were you? Um...”

Her words became mumbles I couldn't make out. “Were we what?”

She opened her mouth to say something, but stopped. She was struggling to find the right words, and something was troubling her. And she didn't want me to know what it was.

“Where you drinking wine then? I...thought you didn't drink.”

“No, he drank, I didn't. We mostly just talked.”

“About what?”

About me becoming more human. “About some old friends of mine, lessons learned, and something about using the privy.”

She blanched at the last one. I probably shouldn't have mentioned that part.

She gave a sigh that spoke of disappointment, but acceptance. “I only spoke to the Herald of Andraste twice, and he always seemed larger than life. I guess I...never thought about him finding love.”

Is she changing the subject? “Yes. He loves Cassandra very much.”

“Cassandra?” Her tone changed again. She's very strange.

“Yes. He pursued her for a long time, and she resisted at first, because of who he is. She stood at the Inquisitor's side, his protector and his lover. It was meant to be. Now they are separated by chaste doctrine and a new name. It's very sad.”

“Oh...” Her realization was musical. “I had thought...” She shook her head, giving me a soft smile. “What about you?”

“Me?”

“Is there anyone standing at your side? As protector or...?”

I waited for her to finish her statement, until I realized she wasn't going to. “No...”

She moved away from the wall, and I could hear her inhale the sweet sea air, releasing her worry with her breath. “I'm starv'd! Have you had lunch today, Cole?”

“No.”

“I know a place in Hightown's mart. Let's eat.”

I got down from the ledge, cocking my head as I looked at her. She was smiling mischievously at me, her hands clasped behind her back, all her weight on one foot.

“But I don't...” I stopped myself.

“You don't...what?”

“Nothing...sorry.”

* * *

 

We entered Hightown from the Merchant District, or what was left of it. Reconstruction in Kirkwall was slow. Several shops and booths were open and hawking their wares, but the destruction of the Chantry four years ago was still clear. Rubble was strewn about; scorched buildings were left empty, their valuable contents picked clean by looters. The hawkers didn't seem to notice, resigned to the ruin around them.

Maryden walked into a nearby bakery, asking me to wait outside, as my scent was still overpowering. I noticed a few patrons holding their noses as they walked by me. I tried to stay away from the throngs of people, but it was much more crowded here than it had been at the docks.

I was all too happy to see Maryden emerge, holding what appeared to be two biscuits in her hand. Pie-like biscuits, I think. There was something inside.

“Meat or cheese,” she said to me as she held each up.

_Neither_? I didn't think that was an option. I could tell she wanted the meat one, so, “Cheese, thank you.”

She handed me the biscuit. I stared at the pastry, turning the warm ball of bread over in my hands. The crust was lightly browned and slightly crumbly, but a gentle, crispy squeeze revealed it was soft inside. I brought it up to my nose, inhaling the sweet and smoky smell of the buttery bread. I couldn't smell the cheese inside, but I knew it was there.

I hadn't eaten anything since...I'm actually not sure if I ever have. I remember experiencing hunger when I thought I was human, before I joined the Inquisition, but did I ever eat anything? I don't remember.

“Cole?”

I looked up to see Maryden several steps ahead of me, staring back at me in concern. I noticed she had already taken a bite out of her meat pie, and wanted to continue on our way. Did she really expect me to eat and walk at the same time?

“Sorry...” I said meekly as I caught up to her.

We traveled further into the city, seeing the destruction only get worse as we drew closer and closer to the source. We saw additional signs of reconstruction, though halted long ago. Maryden finished her meat biscuit greedily as we walked, wiping her buttery hands on her trousers.

“So, Cole? What secrets lie beneath your hat?” It was Maryden who broke the quiet with casual conversation. I was content to remain silent.

“You mean my head or my hair?”

She laughed, shaking her head. “Your past? Your life? Where did you come from?”

Normally I'd just say 'The Fade,' but that was not an option with her. “Um, Fereldan.” It's hard to remember, as they are my memories, but they are not.

I started as a spirit, but my body is based on a human; a young man I could not save. I _think_ he was from Fereldan, but I'm not sure.

“I gathered that from the way that you speak.” Her tone was still blissful. “ _Where_ in Ferelden are you from, Cole?

These questions were harder than I was expecting. “Um...a farm. I don't recall where exactly.”

She gave me that confused look again, pursing her lips as she tried to think of a new question. “When you write to your parents, where do you address your letters?”

“My parents are dead.”

The memory filled me with sadness, mourning. I didn't like thinking about my... _his_ parents.

I was so lost in my own feelings, I didn't even notice Maryden's stricken face until she spoke. “Oh...I'm so sorry, Cole. I didn't realize...”

No! I didn't want to upset her. “It's alright,” I soothed, wishing I could just make her forget and start over. Doing it this way was harder. “They died a long time ago. I'm alright.”

We walked in silence after that. I still struggled to read Maryden when I was this close to her, but I still felt a twinge of guilt from her for asking a question that caused me pain. She didn't dare ask more.

So I did. “Where are _you_ from?”

I already knew the answer. When I was a spirit, I studied her mind, her passions, until I knew more about her than she probably knew about herself. Still, I wanted to hear her voice say the things I knew; listen to her talk about herself as though I knew nothing.

She shrugged her shoulders. “That's a hard question for me to answer. I lived half my life in Orlais, where my father was born, and the other half in Fereldan, where my mother was raised. I guess I'm a little bit of both.”

Pulled between two worlds. I know what that is like.

Her eyes glazed over as she recounted her memories. “I was born in Denerim, but I see myself as more Orlesian. Probably because most of my childhood was spent in Val Royeaux, where my father was a respected mask maker.”

I saw sadness flash in her eyes and her mind, although she tried to hide it. “The memory of your father makes you sad.”

“He died while I was attending school in Val Chevin. It was...unexpected...in his sleep.”

She'd wanted to be there, to say goodbye, but she was miles away. “I'm sorry. Losing a parent is very hard.”

“You'd know, wouldn't you?” She gave me a sad smile, and I returned it in kind.

We climbed up a brief set of stairs and rubble, leading us to scaffolding and the beginning of the foundation for what was once a large and important building. There was very little rubble left here, save for the larger boulders that were impossible to move. Most of it was picked clean by superstition, misplaced faith, and curiosity. This is where Kirkwall's Chantry once stood, before it was destroyed by a spirit of Justice who was too-long denied its purpose. Many site the rebellion at the White Tower – a rebellion I participated in three years ago – as the beginning of the Mage-Templar War. In reality, this spot right here is where it truly began.

“ _The deep dark before dawn's first light seems eternal, but know that the sun always rises.”_

Maryden's hushed and reverent voice recited a verse from the Chant of Light. She climbed the few remaining steps, kneeling long enough to say a quick prayer to the Maker.

I stepped forward, touching the scaffolding with equal reverence. I listened as the wood sang songs of frustration and procrastination. It wanted to become more, to become the place of comfort and faith it was meant to be, but it was denied. It didn't know why.

I wished I could tell her more, but even the wood didn't know why construction was delayed.

“Cole?” I removed my hand from the scaffolding and turned back to Maryden. She was staring at me, her mouth open, but no words came out. She couldn't decide which ones to use. “That...spirit back there...at the party...”

“You are afraid of spirits.”

It wasn't a question, but she nodded. “Varric tell you that?” she said with a nervous laugh.

“Some spirits are nice. You don't have to be afraid of all of them.”

“I've met more than enough to disagree with you.”

She scuffed at the ground with her foot, kicking away the fear and despair. I knew why she was upset, but I needed to be careful. It was a tight tangle of twine, tender and tenuous; full of pain and sorrow. If I could convince her to release it, her fear and bigotry would fall along with it. If I couldn't...

“You've seen a lot of spirits while traveling with the Inquisition I'm sure,” she continued. “Have you ever met a kindly spirit?”

Besides me? “Yes. I've met Command, Wisdom, Faith, and...others. They mean no harm to anyone. Some even help.”

“I've never heard of those spirits.”

That's normal. It was hard for me to fault her. The Chantry doesn't understand spirits and demons, and they teach that misunderstanding to all who follow. The irony is that teaching people that all spirits are bad just makes more bad spirits. Most spirits, the weaker ones, have no will of their own, so they will become what you want them to be. When people are taught that spirits are bad, even the good will become bad. Is it any wonder the good spirits rarely come to this world? We don't want to be demons...

“The Fade is all about feeling. Emotions, exclamations, empathy. We know the demons that hurt; Rage, Despair, Fear, Pride, but the good ones rarely seek the here. The Chantry would have you think all spirits want to hurt, but the Chantry is wrong.”

I saw the flash of defensive anger in her eyes, and she crossed her arms defiantly “I didn't expect a member of the Inquisition to speak such blasphemy.”

She was testing me. She already knew how I would inevitably answer. “The Chantry called the Herald a heretic, but you followed him over them. Even you know they get things wrong sometimes.”

She visibly relaxed, letting her crossed-arms fall to her side. “You got me there. Still, just how are you supposed to tell which spirits will hurt you and which will harm you?”

“I don't know. How do you tell which people will hurt you and which will harm you?”

She pursed her lips stubbornly. “I'd rather take my chances with a person.”

The knots were tight, resisting the pull, but I didn't want to give up. “The demons hurt you. Burdened, bothered, burned to your being, you blame the broken, the Breached. I'm sorry you lost your lover to them.”

She stiffened, looking at me in fear and anger. “How do you know about her? I never told anyone about her!”

“Lost love turns to hate. Not all spirits are like that one.”

“I...” I could sense the pain underneath, starting to emerge, but she pushed it down, hid it away. “I don't want to talk about this Cole. Let's just go.”

I frowned. It wasn't torn, but the knot was as tight as ever. “I'm sorry. I just wanted to help.”

She nodded. “Thank you, but I'm fine.” She wasn't, but I knew better than to press further.

We left the site of the Chantry destruction, heading back towards the market. We'd barely entered the district before she noticed...

“Aren't you going to eat that, Cole?”

I looked at her with wide eyes before looking down at my hands. I had forgotten I was still holding the now-cold biscuit in my hand.

I could feel her distress. “Is something wrong with it, Cole?”

She thought she'd picked wrong. It upset her... _I_ was upsetting her.

“No, it's...fine...sorry.”

I let out a sigh, and lifted the pastry to my mouth, taking a small bite. As the bread touched my tongue, I flinched a bit, unfamiliar with what it was like to taste. There was a touch of saltiness and sweetness, mixed with the sumptuous smell I was already familiar with. The fragile crust practically melted in my mouth, leaving the soft doughy texture as I chewed. Even cold it was surprisingly tasty.

I took a bigger bite the second time, and reached the cheese. The cheese was firm, moist and sweet, but it became softer, gooier, when it hit the warmth of my mouth. I actually liked it.

I stole a glance at Maryden and smiled, my cheeks still full of cheesy goodness. She smiled back, relieved. “Probably would have tasted better if it was still warm.”

“I like it this way,” I assured her, although it was partly muffled by my full mouth. I swallowed before taking another bite of the sweet cheese biscuit.

She started walking again, and I followed suit, still eating. I didn't think I would enjoy eating this much, but I didn't want to stop. I didn't even realize how much I was focused until I stumbled over a rock in the middle of the street, just barely catching myself before falling forward.

“Are you okay?” She was genuinely concerned, but she couldn't hide the slight laugh at seeing me stumble.

“Eating and walking is hard.” I responded.

“Oh, I see. No wonder you didn't eat it earlier.” She reached out and took my free hand, not flinching at the butter and bread flakes covering it. At first I thought she was just helping me walk, so I took another eager bite of my snack as I let her lead me, but she actually led me over to a bench at the edge of the market.

I sat down, expecting her to sit with me. She didn't.

“Wait here, Cole. I'll be right back.”

* * *

 

I finished my biscuit, wiping my hands on my pants like I saw Maryden do earlier. I felt fit, fulfilled from the fresh, flavorful food, but I fancied another. I looked around for her, but she had vanished in the crowds.

With nothing else to do while I waited, I assessed the crowd, seeing if anyone might need my help. In front of me, a woman was arguing with a blacksmith over the buckle she bought earlier. A little girl was weeping, whimpering, wailing, because her mother refused to buy her a stuffed nug. To my right I saw an old dwarven woman in tattered clothes beg a vendor for a piece of bread, only to flee from his cruel kick.

“Have you ever tried marzipan before, Cole?”

I was so focused on the dwarf that I didn't notice Maryden sneak up on me, handing me what appeared to be a piece of candy shaped like a cluster of grapes. I took the piece of candy, turning it over in my hands. It was simple and pretty, and smelled sweet.

“Marzipan?”

She nodded. “It's candy. It's very good.”

I wanted to eat it, but I didn't this time.

“Wait,” I said to her as she prepared to take a bite of her own apple shaped piece. She stopped, staring at me in surprise, and I stood up, walking towards the bread vendor. I had nothing to say to the cruel man, but I did need to go by him in order to find the beggar.

I found her hiding behind a pillar, her face buried in her knees, trying not to cry in despair. I knelt down in front of her, placing a hand gently on her shoulder to get her attention. She flinched, looking at me in horror, expecting me to punish her for existing, as so many had before.

“Here,” I said to her as I handed her the marzipan. She hesitated, staring at me, then the candy, then at me again, before snatching the candy from my hand and stuffing it in her mouth quickly as though fearing I would change my mind.

I gave her a reassuring smile and was getting ready to stand up, only to have her throw her arms around me suddenly, keeping me down. I helped people a lot, so I was accustomed to seeing them happy, but their grateful reactions I would never get used to.

“Maker bless you, Messere!” Her voice was rough and shaky, but her words were passionate and strong. “Thank you, thank you, _thank you_!”

I patted her on the back awkwardly. She smelled like vomit and sweat, and her clothes were filthy, but the hug was still warm and sweet. “It wasn't much...” I let my words trail off, returning her hug affectionately.

She finally let me go, slinking back against the pillar. I stood up, turning to see Maryden behind me, staring at the dwarf while still holding her piece of candy. She glanced at me, a sense of wonder in her expression.

“She needed it more than me.”

For a brief moment, I wondered if I did the right thing. Maryden gave _me_ the candy, not the dwarf. Would she be offended that I simply gave it away?

Maryden looked at her own piece of candy and sighed heavily, before stepping forward and handing the piece to the woman.

“Oh, thank you. Maker bless you.” The woman said as she took the candy, gently this time, and began to eat it. I then watched as Maryden pulled a small sack from her satchel and handed it to the grateful dwarf as well. I wasn't even aware until that moment that Maryden had bought an entire bag of the candies, but I was pleased she gave them all to the needy woman.

She turned back to me, and I smiled at her as we headed out of the market. “Thank you for helping her.”

“Candy isn't really the best thing to give someone who's starving, you know.”

I gave a small chuckle. “Yes, but it still helps.”

“Do you do this kind of thing often? The charity, I mean?”

“Yes, it's what I do. I like helping people.”

We began to descend the stairs leading back to Lowtown. Horse-drawn carriages passed us down the ramps every once in a while, but the street was almost entirely empty. We were high enough to get an aerial view of the markets below. The sun was setting, casting a colorful hue upon the calm waters of the Waking Sea.

We walked in silence for only a few moments before Maryden broke the silence between us. “I can't stop thinking about our trip to the Alienage, Cole. I'm not sure I'd ever experienced anything like that before.”

“They loved you. You made them happy.”

“I'm Orlesian,” she let out a sigh, a mixture of pride and shame. “And I was always discouraged from singing in Alienages. The prejudice my countrymen show to the ' _knife-ears_ ,'” she said the slur with a sickening sarcasm, “is ugly. I never had anything against elves, yet, I still avoided performing in the Alienages, as I had been taught. I don't even know why now.”

She looked over at me, and I stole a glance in her direction. “I won't be avoiding them anymore. They need me far more than the stuffy nobles who barely listen to my songs anyway.”

“Orlais twists the music to hurt. They eavesdrop, execute, embezzle. You are not like them. Your hymns help the hurting.”

She stopped her decent, placing a hand on my arm to stop me as well. I turned to face her, and found myself looking directly into her eyes. We were close to the same height, so it was easy to do.

“I would not have considered going to the Alienage had you not insisted.” There was guilt in her voice.

“They needed you there.”

“I can't always tell where I am needed.”

“I can,” I assured her, reaching over and touching the hand she still had resting on my arm. “I can help you help people. If you let me.”

She gave me a playful smirk. “You speak as though I stopped you passing notes.”

I removed my gaze from her, staring at the side of the road in thought. No, I guess she never did. I was the one who chose to stop sending her songs.

I could feel her gaze still on me as she stepped closer to me, close enough that I almost wanted to step back. I looked up at her instead, and the eyes I only felt before I could now see, in all their doe-like beauty. Looking at her, I get so hypnotized...lost...paralyzed.

“Do you remember, Cole? In Haven's Rest?” I must have given her a confused look, so she laughed and continued. “The servants? Drinking, celebrating, that?”

She remembered! “Y...yes.”

She gave an amused look. “Grown up? Or are you still just five-years-old?”

I understood age a little better now, and I knew now why she and the servants laughed when I said that. “No. I'm older.”

I expected her to ask me my age, and I wasn't sure what number to give her. Understanding the concept better didn't mean I knew the answer. I didn't even know how old the real Cole was when he died.

She didn't ask me, but she also gave me a...look. I'm not sure what it meant; it was a smile, but there was more behind the smile. A glint of something I wasn't familiar with.

"I may not be a spy or assassin, but I still learned my craft in old Orlais." Her voice took on a strong whisper, so her words would be heard only by me. Her gaze held me captive like it did before. Something about the way she looked at me sent my heart beating fast, and I tried to swallow down the lump in my throat. "They taught me how to be aware of all. The way the body speaks, apparel worn. A gaze falls on my tail before a tree. A glance at bosom on the harbor's edge. I notice, smile, and wonder at your aim."

She had a strange way of speaking when she was performing, and it took me a while to realize what she meant. She _knew_. My lustful looks, in the Alienage and just now by the docks. She noticed it all, despite my attempts to hide it.

My eyes went wide in horror, and I turned away in shame, my face burning. “I'm sorry...I tried not to...I know I'm not supposed to stare...I'm not usually like that, I'm...”

I felt her hand cup my cheek, turning me back to face her. Her hand was cool against my skin, the rough callouses on her fingertips, formed from playing her instrument, a distinct contrast to her smooth palms. I lifted my own hand to touch hers, intending to remove it, but I couldn't. Our eyes fixed firm again, and I knew this time I wouldn't be able to look away.

“I did not say this out of anger, Cole. The looks you give, your thoughts; they flatter me.”

Can she read minds, too? No, she could just tell. She knew I liked her, but I still wasn't sure if she...

“Since you are grown now, how about that drink?”

I didn't have to turn away. My eyes naturally closed when she pulled me closer and pressed her lips against my own.

I'd never kissed anyone before. I'd seen others do it – I even encouraged it when I knew it would help – but this was new for me. At first, all I noticed was how warm and wet it was, the smell of honey-mead, mixed with the taste of a warm breaded pastry. I was frozen at first, before the realization of what was happening finally sunk in.

I'm pretty sure this meant she liked me, too.

I responded in kind, reaching my free hand behind her neck to draw her closer. It was awkward and alluring; bumbling and breathtaking. I didn't know what I was doing, but it didn't matter in that moment. Her lips parted, encouraging my own to do the same, leading me speechlessly through the motions. I felt her free arm wrap around my waste, pulling our bodies closer. I could feel the warmth of her body mix with my own, and her soft breasts press against my chest. I wasn't embarrassed by it this time, but welcomed it.

I felt her start to pull away, releasing her gentle grip on my waste and leaning back. I wasn't ready for the kiss to stop, though, and I instead moved with her, keeping our lips together, a little too greedy for my own good. I could feel her laugh at my temerity, the vibrations tickling my lips, and she leaned in again to comply with my eager gesture.

Time was always a difficult thing for me to follow, and I wasn't sure how long we stood in that empty street, holding each other. I finally broke the kiss, allowing her to move away from me, which she did with noticeable reluctance. Her lips were redder than ever, her cheeks flushed. I couldn't remember her looking more beautiful than at that moment.

She let out a short laugh, licking her lips as she considered what to say. “I'd drink more often if it was like that.”

I smiled back at her, my voice still breathy. "If drinking was like that, then so would I."

* * *

 

We walked to the Docks again, our steps slow but deliberate. She held her hand in mine, our fingers weaved together, sending a thrill through me as our palms pressed. Every once in a while, I stole a glance at her, and she at me, always followed by the glow of a smile. I really like being human.

The sun had not yet set, and the Docks were busier than usual. A ship full of passengers had just landed, most of them passing through, and they were enjoying some time on solid ground before they would depart again. Some of them glanced in our direction, smiling, nudging their own spouses and pointing. Just seeing Maryden and me together made them happy.

"We still have time before we must return," Maryden said, gazing at me affectionately. “What did you want to do to pass the time?”

I looked at her for a moment before looking around us. There wasn't much to do here, with most of the area damaged and empty.

“We could swing back to Lowtown and...”

I was interrupted by a sudden and unexpected pull. Pressing, pain, passing, perish. _Please! I don't know how he knew. I don't want to die!_

“Cole? What's wrong? Are you...”

I barely heard her before I was running down a nearby ally. I didn't have much time.

_Plead all you want, it won't save you._

The ally itself was empty, but it led out to a ledge overlooking the ocean. Only once I'd passed into the open did I consider my rushing may not have been wise.

It was filled with dwarves. Based on their dark leathers, ideal for nightly stealth, I knew they were Carta dwarves. Three of them stood over a fourth one laying bloody on the ground. The one who called me, his throat slit, his life blood slowly ebbing out of him.

I couldn't help him, but I recognized him. His beard, easily the same size as he, was now stained red with his blood. He spotted me, too; his pain-filled eyes pleading with me to save him.

_Cupcake_.


	6. Trapped

I didn't have time to hide before they all turned to look at me, drawing their various weapons in alarm. Not good.

“You came down the wrong alley, boy.” Their leader drew two daggers from a holster on his back. I drew mine as well, from sheaths hidden in my leggings. I was glad I remembered my daggers this time. I didn't want a repeat of the Marquis' estate.

“Wait, that's him.” One of the dwarves, one wearing heavy armor and holding a bloody sword and dented shield, pointed at me. “That's the guy that's been hanging around Tethris. That's the asshole that tipped him off.”  
  
That's not very nice. I'm not an asshole.

“Is that so.” I heard their leader chuckle, and not in a pleasant way. He was even less pleasant when he turned his words to me. “I'm afraid the boss wants you dead, kid, but I appreciate you making it easy for us.”  
  
I crouched down, staying on high alert as I weighed my odds. The third dwarf held a crossbow; not a fancy one like Bianca, just a plain crossbow. He looked like he knew how to use it, too. The warrior-type looked to be newer, but also very determined to prove himself. That was why he took the initiative and stabbed Cupcake.

The alcove was mostly empty, save for a stack of old crates to my left, a few empty barrels to my right, and Cupcake's dying form just ahead. A short barrier of outward-facing spikes, standing no higher than my calves, was all that stood between us and the water below.

I noticed Maryden had followed me, as I'd feared, but she quickly took cover behind the barrels. I don't think the dwarves saw her. This was good. She was safe. I hoped.  
  


The odds were very much against me. I thought about running, but that meant a crossbow bolt to the back, not to mention leaving Maryden to fend for herself if they discovered her there. I was going to have to fight and hope for the best.

I saw no way I could save Cupcake.

I said I can no longer make people forget me, now that I'm real, but that's only partly true. I can still touch their minds and pull at the part of them that wants to see me and remember me. Like a bent branch, it will bounce back to the bark. I can make them forget me for a few heart beats, a few moments in time; useless when healing, but still functional when fighting.

I reached inside myself, to the part of me that still remembered the Fade...

“What the h...” The crossbow dwarf was my first target. In his mind, I vanished, leaving him bewildered for just a few moments. Just long enough to appear behind him, stabbing my daggers into either side of his neck and withdrawing them before he even realized I was there.

His crossbow fired, but went wide, hitting the walls of a nearby building. Blood spurted from his neck, and he grabbed his throat in a vain attempt to staunch the flow. He could still breathe, but he would bleed out very quickly. I prefer my opponents die quickly rather than suffer needlessly.

That was one, but I knew the other two wouldn't be dispatched so easily; the bendy branch bent back. The armored warrior charged at me with a cry of rage, his sword raised above his head and his shield in front of him. I attempted to sidestep his charge, but I was a split second too slow, and he slammed into my side hard, knocking me towards the edge.

I didn't fall, but the blow knocked the wind out of me. Worse, one of the spikes stabbed painfully into the back of my hand, causing me to release the dagger I was holding. I couldn't see where it went, but the sound of splashing water below said I wasn't getting it back.  
  
My head spun and my eyes watered, making it hard to see, but I still noticed a sword-sized blur coming down on me in time to roll away. I did my best to get up at the end of my roll, but I could only manage to get to one knee, bringing my one remaining dagger to bear. He was on me in an instant, swinging his shield out to smash me again. This time I was able to leap back and onto my feet, out of his reach. His sword wasn't far behind, and I stepped back to dodge the blade, barely.

I recognized this tactic; I'd used it when fighting with Cassandra. The other dwarf, the one with daggers like mine, was probably behind me. If the sword-wielding assassin continued to drive me back, I'd either back straight into a blade or be driven off the other side of the balcony. I didn't like those options. Normally I would try and duck under the swing, but that's very difficult when you're fighting someone half your height. So I jumped to the side, slashing my dagger out to strike against his sword arm.  
  
I expected to hit his armor, but I was lucky and my dagger struck the softer seam just above his elbow, cutting deep. He cried out in pain, dropping his sword. I moved quickly behind him, taking my dagger in both hands and slamming it into his back hard enough to pierce the metal. The impact sent a wave of pain and tingly numbness from the tips of my fingers all the way to my chest, but I was able to strike his heart. He fell to the ground with a thud, taking my embedded blade with him.

I didn't have much time to think about my victory before the third dwarf reminded me he was still there. The pain in my arms was overridden by a far worse stabbing pain in my side, just above my waste, and I screamed in agony. I stumbled to the ground, clutching my side, trying to stop the flow of blood.

The last dwarf stood over me, blood dripping from one of his daggers. “I didn't know you could fight.” He spat on the ground, slowly bearing down on me. “I won't be making that mistake again.”

Unlike me, he had no intention of making my death as painless as possible. He was angry with me for killing his followers, and he was prepared to make me suffer. I tried shuffling back, but I was getting dangerously close to the edge. Fleeing through the water entered my thoughts, but I didn't see that avenue of escape as very good.

“Things would have been so much easier for everyone involved if Varric had stayed away from Kirkwall and butt out of its affairs for a while.” He lashed out at me with incredible speed. I ducked my head, avoiding a slice to my face, but only barely. A piece of my blond hair fell to the concrete ground. “Maybe the sight of your mutilated corpse will send the message.”

I shifted backwards again, leaving a smear of blood on the concrete. Now I was at the edge, the iron spikes stopping me from going further. I felt faint, feeble, a fatal fate. Unarmed, outmatched, I didn't know what to do. The sneer on his face told me he knew I was beaten.

In hindsight, I should have taken him out first. I'm not very good at planning these things. I wished the Inquisitor was there. Or Varric. They were not, but I was still saved at the last minute by a...

_Barrel?_

It jumped out at the dwarf like a cat pouncing on a mouse; or rolled, anyway. He didn't expect a barrel to attack him anymore than I did, so he was taken completely off guard; only having enough time to face his “attacker” before it knocked him to the ground, forcing him to drop both daggers as he fell.

I saw an opportunity and I took it. Gritting my teeth against the pain in my side, I rushed over to where he lay prone and dazed. He had only moments to realize what was about to happen, and by then it was too late. I grabbed one of his daggers from where it had landed on the ground and, in one swift motion, brought it down on his chest. I heard him grunt under me, his eyes going wide, just before I twisted the blade up and into his heart. It only took seconds for him to die.

I didn't have the stamina to celebrate my victory. I clutched at my side again, letting out a grown as I fell back. The world was spinning into oblivion, and I struggled to stay alert. Am I dying? I wasn't sure.

“Cole!” Even in my daze, I recognized Maryden's voice. She was beside me in an instant, a small comfort, and her arm instantly went to my back, preventing me from falling backward. “Hang in there! I'm here.”

She took my free arm and wrapped it around her shoulders, her other arm supporting my back. She was stronger than I thought she was (or I was lighter, that's probably it) and she lifted me easily. I could barely stand on my own, let alone walk, but I tried.

Everything was going dark and distant very quickly. “I know where a healer is, Cole. Just hang on!”

*****

Somewhere along the walk to the healer, I blacked out. I don't know if that means I went unconscious or not, but I hope Maryden didn't have to carry me. Maybe I'll ask her later.

When I came to, I was vaguely aware that I was laying on my good side, the side that didn't have a stab wound in it. Someone had removed my shirt and leather vest, leaving my chest and stomach bare, but a thin blanket protected me from the chill air. I saw my hat, resting against the wall near my bed, my clothes on a small table next to me. The side where I was wounded felt uncomfortably numb – and I could feel the tight bandages wrapped around my middle – but I suppose it is more comfortable than the stabbing. There was also a wrapping on my hand.

“You awake, Kid? How you feelin'?”

I opened my eyes and saw Varric, or at least a blurry silhouette of him. I could feel him rest one gloved hand on my bare shoulder, his look of grave concern coming into focus.

I was lying on a cot in a room full of cots. It was a scene I'd seen many times before, but usually not from one of the perspective of the bed. It was well lit with candles, including one sitting on a tiny table next to me, and it all smelled of coppery blood, vomit, and elfroot. I couldn't see the cots behind me, but I heard someone cough, and another voice groan. I instinctively tried to sense their pain, but even with numbing, my own pain drowned it out.

“Hello, Varric,” I managed to croak out.

“Shit, Kid, you had us all sick with worry.” He breathed a sigh of relief, leaning back in the chair that I just noticed he was sitting in. I saw movement behind him, and looked up to see Maryden standing nearby. She looked tired, and I noticed blood soaking half of her clothes. None of it was hers; it was all mine. She didn't care, though; all of her concern was reserved for me.

“Do you remember what happened?”

“Talgon is dead.” I knew I couldn't save him - and I didn't like him much - but it still hurt to know I failed.

Varric wasn't as concerned. “Cupcake? Really? He was one of them?”

“They killed him. I couldn't save him. Then the others attacked me.”

Varric nodded. “That's pretty much what Maryden said. She...” Varric hesitated, taking a deep, shuddering breath before continuing. “She also said they wanted to kill you to send a message to _me_.”

“They were angry at Cupcake. They blamed him for you finding out about the meeting. They didn't want you to go to that meeting.”

Varric stood up from his chair, throwing his hands in the air as he turned his back to me. “And why the hell not? Why am I such a threat to them all of a sudden?”

I didn't need to read my dwarven friend to know his anger and frustration were out of worry and fear for me. I reached my hand out to rest it on his shoulder. “This isn't your fault.”

He sighed, patting my hand with his own. “Save the concern for yourself, Kid. You're not out of the woods yet.”

Maryden shook her head, addressing Varric. “Was there anything at that meeting that interested you?”

“Not in the slightest,” Varric said in annoyance. “Believe me, I have zero interest in how many nugs a resident can keep as pets or whether you should be allowed to serve tea in wine goblets.”

“How many nugs _can_ we have?”

“Not now, Kid.”

Maryden coughed in a failed attempt to suppress a laugh.

“At any rate, I've already informed Aveline, and she's looking into it. We'll see what her and her guards dig up before we jump to any conclusions.”

Maryden let out a sigh, turning her attention back to me again. “Well, I suppose we can worry about all that after Cole recovers. If the two of you don't mind, I think I'd like to go clean myself up.”

Varric nodded. “I can stay with the kid a bit longer, Diva.”

She smiled sweetly. “I won't be long.”

She approached my bedside, and Varric stepped aside politely. I couldn't help but smile as she knelt next to my bed, her beautiful face only inches from mine.

“You saved me back there!” My voice came out as a croaking whisper. “With the barrel. Thank you.”

Her smile grew wider as she rested her hand on my cheek. “If I had been a real Orlesian Bard, I would have used something more practical.”

She leaned in, kissing me tenderly on the lips. I responded in kind, a kindly reminder of happiness in an otherwise dark day.

We separated reluctantly, and she stroked my cheek affectionately before getting up and leaving the room. I looked on after her, longingly before turning my attention back to Varric.

I was greeted with a wide-eyed stare. He glanced at Maryden's exiting form, then back at me again, his wide eyes now matched by a wide gape.

“Did you...are you...did you just... _seriously_?”

I gave a subtle chuckle. “Yes.”

Varric slapped his knee and laughed so loudly he woke up some of the patients behind me. “Holy shit, Kid, I never imagined...you and _Diva_? _Really_?”

“She's very nice. She took me to Hightown and bought me a cheesy biscuit, then kissed me on the way back.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Cheesy biscuit?”

“They're good. They sell them in Hightown. Have you tried one?”

Varric was as giddy as a cat in catnip. “ _You're eating, too_?”

“Just a biscuit.”

Varric sat down, covering his eyes with one hand, making his over-sized grin all the more prominent. “And here I was worried you were rejecting your humanity. Way to go, Kid.”

Varric was happy because I was happy, which made me happier. I closed my eyes with a sigh. Just thinking about Maryden made me feel warm inside, like a hot bath on a winter's day.

“Now all that's left is to get you drunk.”

I winced at that one, which only made Varric laugh again. “Hah, I'm teasing, Kid. Only when you're ready. And it's probably best you start with that sweet shit Maryden likes to drink; I think the Hanged Man's brew would kill you.”

A touch of bitter seasoned my happiness when a thought occurred to me. “Varric I...I have to tell her.”

“Tell her what?”

“What I was. She doesn't know.”

It took him only a moment to realize what I meant. “Oh...shit.”

I regret not asking him for advice before. “How do I tell her?”

Varric rubbed his beardless chin in thought. “That's a tough one, Kid. I wouldn't have even considered it an issue before the two of you...” He paused, pursing his lips in thought. “I'm certainly not an honest dwarf, but I'd be doing you a disservice if I lied here. If what you say about her is true, telling her the truth is risky. She...might not...”

His words trailed off, but I knew what he wanted to say. I let out a whimper, hiding my head under my blanket.

“Now, don't sweat it right now, Kid. This still doesn't mean she has to know anything. Focus on getting better, then we'll figure out together what she should or shouldn't know.”

I saw two men, a woman and a boy, approach behind Varric. From the splattered blood on her clothes, and the tray of bandages her assistant was carrying, I can only assume this was the surgeon.

“Good to see you are awake, young man. It's time to check your dressing.”

Varric stood from his chair, still grinning. “I guess that's my queue to leave. You take care, Kid. I'll be back to see you before you know it.”

*****

I don't recall falling asleep after the surgeon checked my wound. She mentioned something about me losing lots of blood, and I felt very tired, but not much after that.

Sleep is one of those human activities I don't need to do, but sometimes do anyway just for a chance to visit the Fade again. Normally I'm aware of everything that is happening around me, but not this time. My mind was flustered and clouded, and the spirit that decided to form my dream was not a nice one.

I dreamed of Rhys, my one and only friend from the White Spire. The only one who could see me for the longest time. I dreamed of the day the Lord Seeker revealed what I really was, and Rhys stopped seeing me. In an instant I went from being a person to a demon, and my one and only friend turned from me...  
  
No, it wasn't Rhys...it was Maryden. Why was she here? Why won't she look at me? But I'm not a demon! Please, look at me!

I woke up with a start, and felt tears stinging my eyes. My mind was still addled, and at first I thought I was still at the Spire.

“Ma...Maryden?” I called out in a hoarse voice as I allowed my eyes to adjust. She didn't answer, but another voice did.

“Ah, you're awake. Good, I was afraid I would be late to my afternoon theater.”

I knew that voice, but I couldn't quite place it. Sleep puts a cloudiness over the mind and senses, and I think it took longer than usual for me to clear my head enough to see.

I wasn't in the main part of the hospital anymore. There were no other cots, and no surgeon or his assistant. Instead I was lying on an actual bed, although a simple one, in a small room. I saw a table nearby with a stack of blankets and a wash basin on it.

There was also a man in the room, the source of the voice I heard earlier. He was sitting down on a chair next to my bed, twirling what looked like a fancy feathered pen in his fingers. It didn't take long for me to recognize the fancy blue outfit and light-colored beard.

Marquis De'Voir.

I tried to sit up, but a shooting pain in my side forced me to lay back down. I tried reaching for my belt to grab my dagger, but, unsurprising, it wasn't there. I was as vulnerable as I could ever be.

“Relax, spirit,” he said in a calm voice, putting his pen away and raising his hands to show he was unarmed. “I simply wish to talk.”

“Where am I?” I could hear a slight strain of fear in my voice, despite trying to hide it from him.

“You're still in the hospital. I arranged for you to have a private room so we could chat. I'm under the impression you wish to keep your true nature secret, so I figured this was best.”

I sat up, slowly this time, clutching my stabbed side. It hurt, a lot, but I didn't like the idea of lying down with this man in my room.

“You really should be careful. You don't want to open your wound again.”

I gritted my teeth against the pain, but I was determined to at least be sitting. “How did I get here?”

“They carried you in on a stretcher. They usually reserve these rooms for those of a more...upper-class nature.” He made a sweeping gesture across the room. “Fear not, it's all paid for. Being their largest charitable contributor does give me a few perks.”

I took another glance around the room, taking note of where the door and the window were situated. The window was small, shuttered, and opened inward, which would make escape difficult there. The door may or may not be locked.

I tried to read the Marquis, but I was blocked. Again. I looked frantically around the room, but I saw no sign of...

“Duty is here, just not where you can see him. I certainly can't have you poking around in my head as you do.”

I was angry, and the pain in my side made the emotion come easily. “If you don't want to hurt me, why did you try and have me killed?”

This visibly irritated the Marquis. “I _didn't_. I have no interest in seeing you hurt, spirit. I'm appalled at what the Carta did to you and I hope they are caught and punished for it.”

“But you had me arrested.”

“It wouldn't have killed you.”

“I don't like being locked up.”

He hung his head. Whether it was in shame or thought I couldn't say. “Most don't, I suppose. Honestly, it was a rash decision, made when the guards showed up. I just wanted a chance to speak to you in private. Will you hear me out?”

At this point, I realized I had no choice but to relax and comply. If the Marquis had planned on hurting me, he would have done so already. Still, I didn't like this.

He noticed my new stature and smiled, leaning back in his chair. He won, and he knew it. “You are a fascinating creature, Compassion. Or, what was it you called yourself, _Cole_? Where did you get that name, anyway?”

I shifted on the bed, trying to make myself comfortable, but it was impossible. “A...young man...at the White Spire.”

“You're not possessing anyone, or so Duty believes. He says he senses only one soul in you, but perhaps you've had this boy possessed for so long...”

“No, he died.” Even now the grief over his death hit me, but I swallowed it down. With difficulty.

He was not phased. “So, a copy then? Remarkable.” The pen was in his hands again, and he tapped it against his lips, looking at me up and down, which only made me squirm. “A good one, too. Most spirits can barely form a human-like shape, let alone copy the human body so perfectly.”

I wasn't sure there was a question in there, so I remained silent. The way he was studying me like a rat inside a trap made me wish I could still make myself invisible.

“How did you do it?”

I told him the truth. “I don't know.”

His voice and eyes went dark. He didn't like that answer. “You don't know?”

“Yes.”

He stood up abruptly, and I stiffened. I thought he might attack me. Instead, I watched him circle his chair, still tapping his pen to his chin. I wish I knew what he was thinking right now.

“It's clear you and I got off on the wrong foot.” He finally said, now standing behind the chair as he looked at me. “I admit, having you arrested when I knew you were not a thief was a mistake. I apologize. It was wrong of me.”

Now I'm just confused.

“So, let me explain my situation to you. Lay it bare, if you will. You have not met my daughter, have you?”

I hesitated, before shaking my head. I recall listening to him speak to her, but I didn't actually _meet_ her.

“She was formally a templar. Joined the Order when she was far too young, at least in my opinion. Soon after her vigil, she was transferred to the Circle in Dairsmuid.” His eyes glazed over as he let his memories take over his thoughts. I had to admit, I was very curious.

“I was enraged, you know. I don't think there's a Circle in Thedas further and more alien from Kirkwall than Dairsmuid. And they decided to send her _there_.”

I remember Aveline mentioning Dairsmuid earlier. And I remember there was something special about that particular Circle, something about it I couldn't quite remember...

“Still, she was strong, and she found happiness there without me.” His eyes were now partly glazed over as he became engrossed in his own memories. Part of him even forgot I was in the room. “She even fell in love. I remember receiving bird after bird, letter after letter, telling me about a man she met there. She even spoke of marriage before...”

He choked back a sympathetic sob, taking a deep breath before continuing. “It's strange. When they evoked the Right of Annulment here in Kirkwall, I remember being grateful she was sent away. I didn't want to think about my daughter being involved in the slaughter of so many people. But, no, she ended up being part of a brutal Annulment anyway.”

And now I remembered. The Circle in Dairsmuid was annulled back when the mages declared their independence, and started the Mage Templar War. It was one of the many sparks that started that fire.

“My daughter hasn't been the same since his death of her love. She left the Templar Order, came home, but she was a hollow version of her former self.”

He had my full attention now. Even without feeling him, I ached for the poor girl. I wanted to help!

He sat back down in the chair, looking me straight in the eye as he continued. “She does have one source of comfort that has kept her going since she got home, and that's Duty, my... _our_ spirit. She is surprisingly fond of him, and she's even gone so far as to try and make him human, even mold him in the image of her former lover. It...hasn't worked. He could never quite get it right, and I had just assumed it was pointless.”

“And then I meet you.”

He reached out to touch my hand, but I pulled it out of his reach. I wanted to help, I really did, but I was still leery.

My reaction surprised him, but he didn't pursue. Instead he gave a half-smile before continuing. “It would help my daughter so much if Duty could be like you. Honestly, if not for his insight, I would never have known you were a spirit at all. A spirit, yet human; with a real human body. I honestly didn't think it was possible, but you have given us both hope. Will you please tell me how you did it? For her sake?”

Now I understood. A incorporeal spirit as a friend can still console, but without a body, however, there were no pats on the shoulder, no hands to hold, no hugging or touching. All those things bring comfort, but they were denied. I wanted to help!

But... “I don't know. I made myself forget.”

He stared at me for a while, disappointment in his visage. “So you really don't know how you did it.”

“I'm sorry. I wish I could help.”

“Perhaps you still can.” He licked his lips, and I could tell he was trying to decide how to form the words. “Would you allow me to study you? Bring in some experts on magic and spirits and see if we can find a way to duplicate what you have done?”

I couldn't answer him right away. I wasn't so sure I liked the sound of that. “Would it hurt?”

“I would hope not, but I can't promise what I do not know.”

I don't like it when people hurt me, but I wanted to help. And I knew which pull was stronger.

I opened my mouth to answer, to agree to his terms, but I was interrupted by a ruckus outside my room. A very familiar ruckus.

“Who authorized this? You can't just move my friend to another room without informing me! And don't you dare tell me I can't go in there again.” The voice was muffled, but I recognized it instantly as Varric. So did the Marquis, who groaned in disappointment. He got up and moved over to the door, using a key in his possession to unlock it and open it wide.

Sure enough, Varric was standing right outside, arguing with the surgeon's assistant, who looked pale and frightened under the dwarf's wrath. It very much reminded me of the scene at the Viscount's, only I was on the opposite side of the door.

Varric noted the door opening with a brief sigh of relief. _Brief_ because then he saw the Marquis he noticeably stiffened.

“Why...Marquis De'Voir. I didn't expect to see you here...” There was a polite hostility in Varric's voice. He saw me inside and moved to enter.

The Marquis stood aside respectfully and let him in. “Greetings to you, Master Tethris. I hope things are well.”

Varric didn't even look back; he was at my side in moments, placing himself between me and the nobleman.

He leaned towards me, whispering just loud enough that only I could hear. “You alright, Kid?”

“Yes,” I answered in a similar whisper. “He's not here to hurt me.”

“That's to be seen.” He turned back to the Marquis and his voice was booming again. “As well as to be expected, what with Kirkwall's construction being delayed, people conspiring to keep me out of meetings, and the Carta trying to kill my friend here.”

The tension between these two made the air heavy and dreadful. The Marquis closed the door, before turning back to the two of us. “Yes, I'd heard about the attack and came to offer my solace.”  
  
“Hoho! Is that what you call it?” Varric mocked, clicking his tongue in disdain. “By 'solace' do you mean apologize for sending the Carta against him? Or are you just trying to figure out a new way to have him assassinated?”

The Marquis set his jaw. If he wasn't sure Varric was not being nice before, he was certain of it now. “I had nothing to do with the attack. I made arrangements to put him in a more comfortable room, is all.”

“Yes...although that doesn't explain why you locked the door.”

The Marquis folded his arm defiantly, yet shrugged his shoulders in a casual manner. “I wanted to talk to him in private.”

“Really?” At this point, I really wish I could just run out of the room and hide. Their arguing was uncomfortable, and Varric's smug arrogance was stifling. “What were you talking about?”

“It was just talk.”

Now I was getting suspicious. Why not tell Varric what we were talking about? Predictably, Varric turned to me wondering the same thing. “Kid?”

“He wants to make Duty human, like me. His daughter likes the spirit, and he wants me to help.”

I thought Varric would soften, would realize that the Marquis was asking for a simple act of compassion. I expected him to offer his help, like I was going to. That was not how Varric reacted at all. He clenched his fist and jaw and got really angry instead.  
  
He turned to face the Marquis, his entire body stiff, and his fists clenching and unclenching.

“If there's one thing I can't stand, it's a man who would take advantage of someone's compassion in order to further his own selfish goals.”

The Marquis raised his hands defensively. “Now, Master Tethris...”

“You might be able to fool my soft-hearted friend here, Marquis, but don't expect for a second that _I'm_ going to believe you're bullshit sob story.”

I now realized why Varric was angry, and I stared at him wide eyed. “Wait, you mean he...he _lied_?”

“Like a well-fed dragon, Kid.” He took a step towards De'Voir, his short status making him no less menacing, but the Marquis held his ground. “You see I decided to do a little digging after I found out your daughter was a templar. If there's one thing every dwarf knows about templars, it's that they need lyrium.”

The Marquis eyes went wide. Something Varric said was scaring him. I was still confused.

“As much as I loathe being part of the Dwarven Merchants' Guild, being a Deshyr does give me access to their records, of which there are none stating you are getting lyrium from us. That leaves either the Carta or the Gallows. So unless you're torturing your child with the red stuff...”

“I would never...” The Marquis growled, but also stopped himself. The damage was done. Varric knew where he got lyrium...from the same group that just tried to kill me!  
  
The Marquis was angry now, but not as angry as I was. How dare he lie to me about needing help. That's...just... _wrong_!

“Get out!” I growled at him, my hands clutching the sides of the bed so hard I couldn't feel my fingers.

His expression softened when he looked at me. “Cole, please! This is just a misunderstand...”

“You heard the Kid,” Varric stepped forward. He was half the Marquis' height, but that didn't make him any less menacing. “I think it's time for you to leave. Now!”

I almost got up from the bed to go after the Marquis. I didn't even care about the pain in my side anymore, but Varric put his hand on my shoulder to stop me. Thankfully, the Marquis gave a polite bow, and exited the room without further objection.

I laid back down on my side, shutting my eyes tight as I tried to quell the anger that rose up inside me. I'm not used to people fooling me, since I can see their intentions long before. It was a new kind of hurt; duped and humiliated. He used my compassion against me! Why would anyone...it's so cruel!

I felt Varric's weight and warmth as he sat down on my bed. “Kid?”

“Go away!” There was a slight sob in my voice, as hard as I was trying not to cry.

Varric didn't budge. “I came to let you know that I recovered your dagger from Aveline. The guards took it when they investigated the scene. They insist they could only find one, so I went ahead and bought you another.”  
  
I didn't turn to look at him. I felt awful now for my mean comment, but I couldn't bring myself to tell him.  
  
“At any rate, I'm going to make arrangements for you to come back to the Hanged Man and finish your recovery in your own room. I don't trust you to be here anymore. Not after what I just saw.”

He gave me a gentle pat on the shoulder before standing up to leave.

“Varric?” I opened my eyes in time to see him turn from the door to look at me. “Thank you.”

He gave me a smirk before exiting the room.


	7. Salacious Stories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is where my AO3 version and FF.net version of this story deviate. If you prefer NOT to read a detailed description of Cole and Maryden's lovemaking, you can head to Fanfiction.net for an edited version. Otherwise, enjoy!

True to his word, Varric had me removed from the hospital and back in the Hanged Man before the days end. The surgeon protested, but a glare from Varric was enough to make her back down, although reluctantly.

I was still weak and in a lot of pain, but with help from Aveline – who was much stronger than I expected – they carried me back to the inn and to my own bed. It may very well be the first time I actually used the bed, and I found myself catching up on all the sleep I never needed.

Maryden doted on me. She read to me, changed my bandages, and spoon-fed me soup while my hand healed. I liked the soup, though not as much as the cheesy biscuit. Even after my hand healed, she kept feeding me. I thought about saying something, but I didn't. I liked having her there.

Days passed and the wound under my ribs finally closed up, but it still hurt. Maryden had some experience with treating injuries and sickness from the Conclave explosion, and I helped her where I could.

“We would have had you up and running already if there wasn't a potion shortage right now.” Varric sighed in aggravation. He sat in a chair he stole from the Hanged Man's tavern area, so he could sit with me. “Makes me long for the days of Skyhold and being on a first name basis with the most powerful man there.”

Maryden knelt next to me, cleaning my wound and applying an elfroot poultice. She let her hair down today, not in her usual braids, and her long tight curls cascaded around her shoulders like a moon-lit river. “Have you tried contacting the Inquisition and asking them to send healing supplies?”

“They've sent a few already. It's just hard to get ships in with our harbor still in ruins. They've even resorted to traveling by Cumberland and other port towns and then finishing the trip on land. I don't think I have to tell you that a trip like that takes fucking forever. Even if I have it expedited, chances are the kid will recover completely before it arrives.”

Flustered, forlorn, and frustrated, Varric wanted to fix it, but failed.

“Hey, did I tell you two that I finally got my threatening letter from the Carta today. Said some shit about finishing the job with 'my friend' if I don't stop interfering.”

Maryden gave me a worried look. “They can't be serious?”

“I'd let you read it, but I'm afraid I put it in my outgoing mail bin, and that shit's already been picked up.” He put it in the fireplace and lit it. “Don't worry yourself, Diva. The Carta seems to have conveniently forgotten that their men are all dead, and my friend here is alive and recovering nicely. If they want me to give up, they need to seriously work on their blackmail.”

I was glad to hear that.

“Still.” Maryden coaxed me into sitting up, just enough for her to wrap a fresh bandage around my middle. “I'd prefer not to see Cole hurt like this again.”

Varric raised an eyebrow. “You suggesting I stop going to the meetings?”

“No, of course not. I just...” Her eyes met mine again, and she sighed. She knew what was at stake, but she worried for me. I couldn't help but smile, reaching out to cup her cheek with my hand. The gesture was enough, and she leaned into my hand, placing her own over it.

“Ugh, seriously you two.” Varric was both happy and annoyed to see Maryden and me this way. “Get a room.”

“We're in a room.” I find Varric strange sometimes.

“One I'm not in.” He got up from his seat. “I suppose I can just arrange that myself. And speaking of arranging, Maryden reminded me of a project I've been working on, so I should go finish that up.”

“Maker watch over you, Varric.”

Maryden took my hand, removing it from her cheek but still holding it fondly. “I have a gift for you. One moment please."

She was excited now. She got up from my bed, crossing the room to pick up a box. I remembered her bringing it in when she came to my room, but I didn't know what was in it. She wanted it to be a surprise, so I didn't press.

The box was large and cylindrical, made of a light cedar wood and painted snow white. A fancy baby-blue bow was wrapped around the lid; purely for decoration. It did nothing to seal the box.

She set it gently down on my lap, then stepped back, looking at me expectantly. I picked the box up, turning it over in my hands. It was pretty and light-weight, like there was nothing inside. The wood was smooth and well crafted, cut from the forests of...

“You are supposed to open it, silly!”

I set it back down on my lap and lifted the lid to look inside. First thing I saw was a lot of white cloth. I don't think that was the gift, either.

Peeling back the cloth revealed...a hat!

It was bright red, with gold trim around the brim and band. It was decorated with royal-blue silk flowers. The brim was very wide, though not quite as wide as my favorite hat, and one side was flipped up in the Orlesian style. I'm pretty sure this was a ladies hat, too, but I didn't care.

“A traveling merchant came through the city the other day,” she explained as she watched me turn the hat over in my hands. “I had him switch the flowers to blue so they'd match your Inquisition uniform.”

“Wow,” I exclaimed as I gazed at it. I placed the hat on my head. It fit comfortably, and the velvety inner lining felt good against my scalp. I couldn't see it once it was on my head though.

Maryden took care of that, reaching into her bag to pull out a hand-held, silver polished mirror, and she held it up for me.

“Thank you,” I could see myself smiling. It occurred to me how rarely I've seen my face smile. I liked it. “Does it make me look handsome?”

She laughed. “Why yes! It makes you look quite dashing, Cole.”

Dashing? I like dashing!

Maryden reached forward and gently took the hat from my head, despite my weak protest, and placed it back in the box. “Next time you must dress up, you'll be prepared.”

I wanted to wear it _now_ , but I guess it's more appropriate for parties than for a sick bed.

“I'm sorry,” I said as I watched her close the lid. “I don't have a gift for you.”

She placed the box on a small table in my room, right next to where my Inquisition uniform was neatly folded. “There is no need to give a gift today. Your gratitude is boon enough for me.”

“But that's what romance books tell you to do. I give to you, and then you give to me.”

This took her off guard. “You like romance novels?”

“Yes, is that wrong?”

“I...” She shook her head. “No, no, I just didn't expect that from you.”

“Casandra used to read them to me. She loved ' _Swords and Shields,_ ' but she didn't know anyone else who read the book – besides Varric, who hated her at the time. She wanted to share her passion with someone, so I asked her to read them to me.”

“Wait! The Divine reads ' _Swords and Shields?'_ ” She seemed surprised, and her cheeks flushed. I'm not sure why. “

“Yes.”

“Oh Maker, now I'm picturing her Perfection reading the sappiest and most salacious book I've ever read.” Her voice went soft in embarrassment. “And believe me, I've read a lot.”

“Well, she wasn't the Divine at the time.”

“And she read them to you?”

“Yes...except when the characters started taking their clothes off to have sex. She didn't want to read those parts to me.”

“Well, that's...kind of a relief...I think.” Her face was still warm, but not as much as before.

“Why? Is there something wrong with the sex in Varric's book?”

“No, not exactly...”

I wasn't sure why Cassandra didn't want to read the sex parts to me. It wasn't like I couldn't see the images in her head, whether she read them aloud to me or not. I knew what sex was, having seen plenty of mages sneaking off to dark corners at the White Spire while I was invisible. Or seeing men and women wander into various private rooms and alleyways to copulate. This was before Varric told that it was wrong to watch people in such private moments, whether they knew I was there or not.

Maryden took a long, deep breath. “Well, Varric said you didn't know much about love and romance, but I had no idea...”

“You talked to Varric about me?”

She looked at me, a slight smirk on her crimson lips. “More like _he_ talked to _me_. He took me aside soon after he found out about us. It was nerve-racking, really, getting a lecture from an overprotective 'father'...with a crossbow.”

“Varric wouldn't hurt you.”

“He joked about it, but I got the impression he was more concerned about me being hurt by you. I'm not sure why.” She must have seen my countenance change, as hers did, too. She didn't know what he meant, but I did. “Cole? Is something wrong?”

“Maryden, there is something you should know about me.”

She met my eyes, turning her body to face me fully. She wasn't surprised I had a confession, and waited patiently for me to speak. But how do I tell her? Varric visited me often, but we didn't talk about my secret again. Is this the right time? Should I do it now?

I reached my hands out, cupping her face in them so I could look her directly in the eye. I can focus, fixate, figure out a person better when I can see their eyes. And the view was nice.

I dipped into her thoughts, felt for the fear of the Fade. Much of it was the natural fear of demons that the Chantry taught her her entire life, but there was more. _Tavern walls rattle. Green light spills in. Monsters everywhere. Blood! Death! Must flee!_

_Don't go!_

_Don't die!_

“Cole?”

She pulled me out of her thoughts, looking at me in concern. I knew in that moment I couldn't tell her. If I told her, she'd...

I leaned forward and kissed her instead. It was an eager and desperate kiss. I was afraid of hurting her, losing her, and the kiss gave me reassurance.

She returned my kiss with equal fervor, but not like mine; not born of desperation or fear. It was something else entirely. Whatever it was, it felt good, much better than the kiss I started. She slipped one arm around my bare back, and I started a little when her touch tickled, but it did nothing to lesson the kiss.

The real surprise came when she pressed her tongue against my lips, urging me to open them. I did so, obediently, just like before. This time, however, her tongue didn't stay in her own mouth like it is supposed to.

It surprised me enough that I pulled away, looking at her in shock. “What was that?”

She stared, stunned, before blushing, lowering her eyes in shame. “Sorry, I guess I got carried away.”

My hands were still on her face, and I stared at the eyes that no longer stared at me. I admired the soft, subtle freckles on her face, the emphasized blush in her cheeks, a face as handsome as it was beautiful.

“All this talk of salacious novels just got me...” I sensed her embarrassment; an overstep in her mind. She thought she had done something wrong, but that wasn't true. I wasn't expecting the intrusion, but I...I think I liked it!

I pulled her towards me again, kissing her with the same passion she had shown me. This time, I decided to try that tongue...thing she did. She welcomed me, pressing her own against mine.

This kiss was even better than our first. I could feel it from my mouth to my chest to my groin, a symphony of sensation and sensuality. She shifted her body closer to me, her calloused fingers stroking my back. I felt my own body growing warm, maybe even hot, but a pleasant kind of hot.

She slid her hand to my chest, bringing her body closer to me still. I found myself being pushed back till I was lying on the bed again. She never relinquished her hold on me, following me down so she lay partially on top of me.

She broke the kiss abruptly, her breath labored as she looked down at me. I was breathing hard, too; the way I sometimes do after a long fight or run. I wasn't sure why she stopped kissing me, and I was tempted to pull her back in again.

“Are you...” She swallowed, letting out a lustful laugh before continuing. “Should we? Should we do this with you...still hurt?”

It took me a moment to realize what she meant. The elfroot had taken effect and I felt no pain in my side, so I had completely forgotten about it. I also didn't want to think about it right now. She was giving me something much better to think about.

“If we step carefully, I will be fine.” I reassured her, pulling her back towards me. She was all too willing, and her mouth was on mine once more, as passionate as it was before. And this tongue-thing is fun.

She moved her lips from my cheek, to the line of my jaw, and down to my neck. It tickled, but the kind that brought out a gasp rather than a laugh. Part of me was confused as to what she was doing. The other part of me didn't care, just so long as she kept doing it.

I twisted my head to the side, giving her better access to my neck. Her own hands were kneading and massaging the skin of my chest and stomach. My body was going crazy, to the point that I almost asked her to stop, but I didn't want her to.

Her hand continued to move down my body, past my sensitive stomach till it reached the top of my trousers. She stopped there, lifting herself up again to look at me. I think she was asking for permission to continue.

My smile was all the answer she needed, and she slipped her fingers under the band. The squeak I made when she touched me, wrapped her fingers around me, was more like a mouse than a person. I don't think I'd ever made a sound like that before, but it made Maryden giggle.

We were both still restricted by my pants, but it didn't stop her from stroking me slowly, my mind reeling from this new sensation. It was one thing to touch my own body, but having someone else do it made everything turn into a blur of pleasure and passion.

My pants became too much of a nuisance, and she pushed them down from my hips, exposing me. The chill air hit my shaft and I shivered, and her warm hand wrapping around me again was a welcome relief. Unimpeded, she stroked harder and faster, and I thought I was going to lose it. I wanted release, but...I also wanted this to last. I...couldn't...but...

She released me, ignoring my whimpered protest as she pulled herself into a sitting position. She worked frantically to remove her vest and shirt, stripping from the waste up, and I stared, fixated. I'd seen quite a few women in a state of undress before, and felt nothing. I even grew rather bored with it. I didn't understand why certain parts of men and women were held sacred; the very sight of them making hearts race and faces flush. It was just skin. Why would seeing more be of interest?

Now I knew.

It wasn't long before she was in the same state of undress as I was, and I reached up to touch her breasts with both hands. Her skin like satin and silk, soft and malleable under my curious caresses. She let out a soft sigh of encouragement, and her own hand covered mine, pushing it harder into her bosom. I squeezed harder, letting my thumbs flick over her tight nipples. She responded with a sharp intake of breath.

I don't remember how our remaining clothing, including our small clothes, made it to the floor. We were both completely nude, her breasts crushed against my chest, my hands entangled in her hair as we kissed again. She shifted her body to straddle my hips, careful to avoid the numb wound on my side.

She broke the kiss, but didn't move away from me. She stared at me, so close I could only see her beautiful brown eyes, our gasps mingling in a breathy dance, the smell of honey wine and sex filling my senses. This close, I could sense _her_ arousal, even over the cacophony of my own. I saw her intentions, and I couldn't wait to follow her lead.

A small part of me protested, frightened at these new and intense sensations, but I knew I couldn't stop even if I wanted to. She didn't want to either. If I could have melded our bodies together, I would have.

She reached between us, taking a hold of me and guiding me inside her. She was slick, hot and ready, and I slipped inside easily. My hips jerked reflexively and I let out a soft gasp as she sank down completely. The feeling spread throughout my entire body, like being immersed in a warm bath. It felt so good. And that was before she started moving.

She rocked her hips back and forth in a steady rhythm. I thought my body had reached its peak sensitivity before, but I was wrong. I moved with her, as much as I could from my position. I couldn't help it; my body responded on its own. Not that I minded.

I moved my hands to her hips, encouraging her movements. My spirit-self never felt anything like this. I'm not sure a spirit could. This must be what Varric meant when he said the challenges, the struggles, I endured as a human would all be worth it. Maryden was the opposite of pain. She was joy, pleasure, beauty...

I sat up, pulling her to me in a kiss. She never stopped rocking against me, but now our mouths matched our bodies, our tongues thrusting in the same rhythm. I moaned into her mouth, and her into mine.

I collapsed back against the bed, and she responded by moving faster. My head was swimming now, and I let out a loud cry of emotion. To my surprise, she slapped her hand over my mouth.

“Shh, the whole inn might hear you!”

I tried to say “sorry,” but it got muffled in her hand.

Satisfied that I would be quiet, she slid her hand from my mouth to my shoulder, using the leverage to start moving again. It was hard not to make a sound, but it also made it easier to focus on her and what she was doing.

A frightening but welcoming heat built up inside. I must have vocalized it, or she sensed it some other way as Maryden picked up her pace, till the fire burst like liquid flame. I made an almost strangled sound, my hips bucked against her. I could hardly breathe, my body tense as the pressure released, and I slumped back onto the bed, completely spent.

I couldn't breathe in that moment, but I was breathing now, hard. My eyes were closed, basking in the soft warmth of the aftermath. I could feel Maryden carefully move herself to lay at my side, wrapping a gentle arm across my chest. She gazed down at me, a soft smile on her lips.

I had to swallow a couple of times before I could speak. “Wow!”

She laughed melodiously at that, leaning forward to give me a gentle and loving kiss. It was short, but soothing. “I'm glad you liked it.”

I could only manage a nod, and I wrapped one arm around her, pulling her closer, letting her head rest in the crook of my neck. Her hair was soft and smelled of fresh garden flowers. I felt weak, but sated. Everything was good.

Wait! Something was missing. Maryden was happy, I could feel it, but she wasn't sated. She still felt hot and unfulfilled, and she wanted the kind of release I just had. Why hadn't she?

“What about you?” I whispered into her hair.

“Hmmm?” She looked up at me with a loving expression. “What about me?”

“You're not done.”

She gave me a perplexed look, then turned it into an unpersuasive smile. “I'm fine.” She was trying to convince me, even giving me a beautiful laugh, but I knew better. “I'm more than fine; I'm overjoyed! Do not distress yourself, my love. We will have time to learn each other's preference. For now, just savor it and be content.”

She was happy for me, but I wanted her to be happy for _her_. That would make me happy.

“Cole? What are you doing?” Her voice was still soft as I slowly and smoothly pushed her off of me, coaxing her onto her back.

“I want to make you happy in return.”

She didn't fight me, but I could see from her eyes she was skeptical. She obeyed, laying on her back and waiting patiently.

I couldn't help but take a moment to admire her body while it was displayed before me. Her beautiful breasts now spread and fell to either side of her chest as she lay, as though to emphasize her curvaceous form. Round hips that led to strong legs, with a thick patch of dark curls between them. Her waist was small, but her stomach wasn't entirely flat; it had a soft, adorable bump to it. I saw a long scar just below her right breast, one she got when a horse kicked her there as a little girl, but other than that her skin was nearly flawless. I never thought much about how beautiful the human body was, especially a woman's body, but I appreciated it now.

“Cole?” Her voice had a little mirth in it, and it broke me from my trance. “Did you lay me down here just to stare?”

I turned my gaze to her lovely eyes and smiled at her. I cupped her cheek with my free hand and leaned down to kiss her lightly. It was the perfect distraction while I delved into her thoughts, unhindered.

Not that I needed a distraction, but the kissing is fun anyway.

She let one hand rest on my back, while the other rubbed my free arm gently. She was my first, but I was not hers, and she knew what she liked. It didn't take much searching to find the memory I was looking for, and I knew what I had to do.

I let one hand trail down her body, from her cheek, to her neck, to the swell of her breast. I enjoyed the soft, smooth feel of her, and it only took a slight brush of my palm on her tight buds to make her entire body quiver. I remained there, rubbing, squeezing, and brushing my hand gently across her again. She giggled into my mouth from the tickling sensation.

I was tempted to linger longer, for my own pleasure as much as hers, but I continued to move down, over the small swell of her belly, until I reached her curls.

I was delving into unknown territory now. I'd seen it done, but “seeing” was not the same as “doing.” I'd never touched a woman in this way before. I broke the kiss, swallowing my nerves away as I looked down at her.

She was anxious, too. She wasn't sure if she should say something, coax me into doing what she wanted, or wait to see what I was going to do. I wouldn't have minded if she made requests, but she chose to wait. She wanted to let me lead this time. I was more than happy to.

I reached further down, and she opened her legs willingly. Her curls were still damp from our love making, and my middle fingers slipped easily between her folds. I heard her sharp intake of breath, and I knew I was doing something right.

I couldn't resist exploring around a little. Her skin was hot to the touch and very slick, smooth in some places and knobby in others. She made a sound somewhere between a gasp and a soft moan, which only encouraged my excursions. Not too hard, not too soft, it didn't take long to find the perfect rhythm and pattern to have her wiggling and squirming beneath me.

She wanted more and so did I. My hand reached deeper into her core, both resistant and inviting to my invasion. Most of her walls were smooth, but there was a small part on the top that felt more spongy, and she gasped loudly when I touched it. I pressed harder, stroking it gingerly.

She tried to resist giving off a loud groan, so it came out as a sharp, quiet cry. Her hands were now digging into my arm and back, almost painfully, and I leaned down to passionately kiss her again. I had done enough exploring, and I was confident I knew what to do. I moved my hand around her most sensitive spaces, back and forth, lingering when she reacted. Her own memories and emotions guided my hand, I could tell where she wanted to be touched without her saying a word. I knew when to back off when the sensations became too tense, and when to go in harder when she needed it.

She was close; I could practically feel the heat building up in her very core. Almost...almost...

She let out a gasp before her breath stopped, arching her back as her body tensed the way mine had earlier. I kept it up, pushing the sensation to last as long as it could. She wasn't kissing me anymore, letting out a strangled squeak instead to go with her climax. Before long she sunk against the bed, spent, and only then did I cease my onslaught.

 _Now_ she was sated. I lifted myself up to get a better view of her, her breath heavy and her eyes closed. There was a soft smile on her lips, slightly red and puffy from our constant kissing. I thought my own release had left me content, but seeing her like this was even better. I never felt more human than I did at that moment...with her.

“So Varric lied. You _are_ experienced.” she managed to say once she'd caught her breath.

“He did not lie. This was my first time.”

A small part of her wanted to be mad at me, but that was impossible in her current state. “I'm not a fool. You do not master love and carnal knowledge on your first attempt.”

I chuckled, and leaned down to kiss her again, but she stopped me this time with a hand to my mouth and a giggle. “Oh, no! Your machinations end right now. What are you hiding, Cole? I will find out.”

She was still giddy, but my own mood fell. I was back to questioning myself again. Should I tell her? This might be the best time to do so, with her in such a joyous state. Or the worst time. I wasn't sure. I suppose I don't have to tell her I used to be a demon. Was it enough to tell her I could read her mind? Would she be okay with just that much disclosure?

“I...um...” I took a deep breath. I've always struggled to put words together in a way that others understand, and having the stakes so high now didn't make it easier. She deserved to know, one way or another.

Telling her would have to wait, though, as something foreign touched the back of my mind. I tried to ignore it, to go back to engrossing in her, but it pushed at me, becoming more and more urgent. It felt similar to someone needing help, but strange.

I reluctantly lifted my eyes from her to survey the room, and my calm was shattered in an instant. I sat up on the bed, startling Maryden as I did so. She let out a cry of surprise and protest, but she was no longer my focus. We were no longer alone. Someone was in the room with us; staring at us with sightless glowing eyes.

_Duty?_


	8. Annulment

I wasn't sure how long the spirit had been watching us. He simply stared, his expression one of confusion.

“What is it?” I looked back at Maryden, who was staring at me in concern. She looked towards Duty, then back at me again. “Is something wrong?”

It took me a moment to realize she couldn't see him. I wasn't sure I wanted to tell her a spirit was invading our room, but did I have a choice?

“I apologize for disturbing you, Ser, but I need your help. Immediately.”

I responded with hesitation. That feeling I had before was coming from him. He didn't show it, but I could feel his distress. It was not for himself.

“Cole...”

I saw Duty turn his attention to Maryden, and before I could react. I heard her squeak in terror, and hide herself behind me. I think she can see him now.

“Stop! You're scaring her!”

“I need your assistance, Ser.”

I was tattered, tined, troubled, torn in two. I always want to help, I need to help, but...

“The Marquis can't have me. He lied to me.”

Duty cocked his head at me, perplexed, his voice growing more urgent. “I know not what you mean, Ser. This is not for Commander Sommer. I'm here on behalf of his daughter, Commander Brice.”

His daughter? “What do you want?”

“No, Cole,” Maryden whispered into my ear from behind me, her voice shaking. “Don't listen to it. That's how they get you.”

“I need you to follow me, Ser.” If Duty heard Maryden, he didn't acknowledge it. “She needs your help.”

I could feel Maryden's fingers digging into my shoulders, almost painfully. Her fear wasn't just for herself, but for me as well. “I don't understand. What is it you think I can do that you can't?”

“You are Compassion, Ser. I am not. She needs compassion now.”

I stiffened at the mention of my spirit identity. I couldn't tell if Maryden was tipped off, what with her fear so loud in my head, but I wasn't ready for her to know.

“I am Cole!” I said with some annoyance, which quickly dissipated as I made my decision. “And I will help.”

Duty rarely showed emotion, but I could see his incorporeal body visibly relax. “Thank you, Ser! We must hurry. She's at the De'Voir estate.”

He vanished in a plume of Fade-green smoke. I would have started moving, if I wasn't being held back by a pair of hands.

“Cole! What are you doing? You know this is a trap.”

“Maybe,” I was nervous, too. “It doesn't matter. I have to help.”

“No you don't! You're making deals with a demon! A demon controlled by the Marquis! You don't have to help it!”

My frustration made me angry. Angry at me, her, Duty. How do I explain this to her without making her hate me?

I pushed off the bed, ignoring her hands as they tried to hold me down, scraping painfully against my bare back. I grabbed my clothes, letting anger dress me.

“Cole, please!”

“I have to help.” My tone left no doubt that she wouldn't be able to change my mind, and she knew it, but she still tried.

“The Marquis knows you're a soft heart. He's trying to manipulate you.”

“I don't think the Marquis is involved in this.”

“Even if he isn't, demons are...”

“No! Stop!” I was trying not to be angry, but her words hurt. More than she knew. “Duty is a spirit. Not a demon. Not a monster. He doesn't want to trick, trap, tempt me. He's only wants to do what he's told. That's his purpose. That's what he is!”

“If all he does is what he's told, how do you know the Marquis didn't order him to lie to you?”

“I...” I was mad, but I didn't want to be mad at her. I took a deep breath. “I don't know. It doesn't matter. I have to help.”

Her voice was both insistent and pleading. “Why?”

“I just do!”

She went silent as I finished dressing. I made sure to grab my daggers, and I slapped my hat on my head hard enough to hurt, but I didn't care. Duty wanted me to hurry. I rushed over to the door and opened it, but was interrupted again. “Wait, I'll come, too.”

“You don't have to come.” I didn't look at her, but I was still concerned for her. If this was a trap that I couldn't sense...

“I'm coming with you, Cole.” She put her clothes on in a rush. She wasn't going to take “no” for an answer. “If not for me you'd be in prison or dead. You need me.”

There was no spite in her voice, just pure trepidation. Duty hadn't told me what was wrong with daughter De'Voir, but maybe Maryden could help. I could only hope my purpose didn't betray me again.

* * *

 

The sun was hot, humid, high in the heavens of Hightown. The wide brim of my hat helped to keep me cool, but I could see Maryden wiping sweat from her forehead. I offered to let her wear it, but she refused.

The De'Voir estate looked more impressive in the sun. The stones were a lighter gray than the mansions around it, with vines of roses climbing around its gold-gilded oak doors. It was all orderly and well-trimmed, and the blossoms made their surroundings smell sweet.

“Do we go in the front door?” Maryden asked. After last time, we didn't feel overly welcome here.

“We can try.” I walked up to the door and knocked three times, stepping back to wait. It was the grumpy hostess from the party that answered. She was wiping her sweaty hands on her dress in an effort to look presentable, but her mood was sour, even when compared to her temperament at the party.

If she recognized us, she gave no indication. “May I help you?”

I froze. What do I say to her? Hi, a spirit told me to come help the Marquis' daughter. I didn't think that would go over well. I can't even remember the daughter's name!

“Greetings, Serah. Is Messere Brice within?” Thank you, Maryden!

The polite greeting didn't make the hostess any less dour. “Is she expecting you?”

“She is. She sought a concert straight away.”

The Hostess lifted up her head, looking her nose down at us, despite being shorter than us. “She's not here.”

She slammed the door rudely, leaving Maryden and I standing stunned.

Maryden was the first to recover and look at me. “I told you the demon deceived us! It said she was here!”

I shook my head. “She's not here because she just left. _Maker she's breaking things again. Anger, agony, abrogation, can't take it. No, don't leave! The Marquis will be furious. Andraste's Mercy I need a new job_.”

“How can you possibly know...” She started to say, started to doubt, but a thought, terrifying for her, invaded her mind. “The demon is here again, isn't it?”

“I am not a demon.”

We both started at the sound of Duty's calm voice. The spirit stood – or floated, anyway -- in the street, looking at us with that unemotional stare. People passed him by, but they could not see him. Just us.

Maryden stepped behind me again, putting me between her and the spirit. She wasn't as afraid this time as she was before, but she still remembered that I had daggers and she didn't.

“She's not here.” I tried to keep my tone matter-of-fact, but I was a little annoyed.

“Yes, she left, but I know where she went. If you follow me, I can take you to her.”

He didn't wait for us to respond before he headed back into the heart of the city.

“It's a trap,” Maryden murmured under her breath, a reminder, but she followed us anyway. I felt her take my hand in hers, a warm and constant reassurance that she was with me.

We traveled for a while, but Duty never left our sight. I reached out to him with my mind, and could feel again his distress. For her. He was worried about Brice. For a brief moment I wondered if the Marquis really had told the truth about them.

Duty took us all the way to the harbor, and the briny sea air was a welcome change from the stony smell of the rest of Kirkwall. The spirit didn't slow down, weaving down the main road unseen, while Maryden and I struggled to keep up.

It wasn't long before I heard the yelling. Shouting is not an unusual sound to hear in the docks of Kirkwall, but this particular shouting was different. It was cracked, crazed, cacophonous, carried across the cove. It spoke of agony, fear, cold and hot all at once. I didn't need Duty to lead me anymore.

The incoherent screaming became louder as we finally reached the source, just off a small dock containing skiffs and other small boats. The larger ships were elsewhere; this was the dock for taking people to the Gallows. The boats were all tied off, now, maybe permanently. No one went to the Gallows anymore.

The place was a mess. One skiff was sinking into the sea and broken splinters from shattered crates were scattered across the wooden pier. Two dock hands were cowering behind another set of crates. They knew it wouldn't protect them, but she wasn't letting them run.

They were cowering from Brice. She was wearing a blue breastplate with ruffled sleeves, but the old songs in her mind, loud and demanding, told me she was a templar. She wasn't an attractive woman, even when she wasn't sweaty, unkempt, and raving. She had a weak chin, bird-like hooked nose, and large grey eyes. Her hair was once the same toasted wheat color as her fathers, but now it looked more burnt and stale, hanging in strands around her face.

“You need to take me...need to take me... _now_!”

I could only understand a few words. She spoke her native tongue perfectly, but her words were slurred and screeching. I watched her frustration as she smashed another crate with her ornate templar sword.

“Please help her, Ser.” I glanced over at Duty, who was giving me a pleading look. I'd never seen that look on him before. “She's not normally like this.”

I knew what this was: Lyrium withdrawal. I'd seen it in the templars at Therinfal Redoubt, especially the ones who refused to take the red. Cullen, too, but he refused to let me help him. This rage was unusual, though.

She wasn't here. Her body was here, but her mind was somewhere else. Before I became realer, I could delve into her mind, leap into her thoughts, live within her dream and wake her up with no time passing outside. Like when I helped the Inquisitor with Envy. But it's harder to do that now. She was seeing what wasn't real, and things that were real became something else. If I was to help her, I needed to pull her back to here.

I watched frustration take her and she smashed another stack of crates with her sword. “Demons...demons everywhere.” She turned her flaming gaze towards me. I braced for attack, but she didn't. “You! Get me to the island, now! I must stop this!”

I was starting to understand her better. Duty wasn't blocking me this time, so I could see her visions. Memories of before and now mixed together like twisted twine. She was Annulling, like she did at Dairsmuid, but a part of her understood that she was in Kirkwall, not Rivain, and the Mage Circle was at the Gallows. She was trying to get there to fulfill her duty, not understanding that her horrific duty had been fulfilled long ago.

“Why?” I kept my voice calm, quiet, consoling, but I'm not sure it helped.

“Why?!” she growled at me. “You idiotic fool, do you not see them?”

“No.”

“Demons! Demons, blood mages; they're everywhere! How can you not see them?”

“I can't see them.” I technically could, if I peeked into her thoughts, but they were not real. She needed to know that.

She inhaled angrily, her body shaking in distress. “It...it doesn't matter! I need to get the Gallows! I need to stop them!”

“How are you going to stop them?”

“The Rite has been passed. They must be destroyed!”

“How can you destroy them when they are not there?”

“I'm...I...” She paused, swallowing. Her walls were breaking, the visions disappearing. “I...I have to...”

Confusion set in, slowly, painfully. The demons and blood mages went away, blown away by a wind no one else could feel. A new vision quickly took its place; one that was much sadder.

Now there were bodies. So many bodies. Blood. Death. It was everywhere. The aftermath of the Annulment, she was living it again.

“I...what...what have I...” Her anger had slipped away, a cooling wind soothing the burn, but a softer burn remained. She fell to her knees, gazing around at the bodies that weren't there. The bodies of dead mages.

One in particular caught her attention, so much so that the others faded away. It was a man, a mage; dark skin and dark lochs, now matted with red blood. She reached a shaky hand as though to touch him, knowing she couldn't.

I walked up to her, kneeling in front of her. I tried to see her face, but her head was down. She was very quiet, her body shaking. She was crying.

“This is why you left the Templars?”

She nodded, but didn't look at me.

“ _Innocents and abominations together. Rules, regulations, ruthless, The Right. They didn't have to die. Maker, why did I follow orders? Why didn't I leave the Order sooner?_ ”

Her body stopped shaking and she lifted her head, just a little bit. She was still trapped in her head and couldn't see anyone.

“What's done is done.” I soothed. She didn't answer me, but I know she could hear me. “You can't change it.”

“He...he was...” I could only barely hear her. She spoke in a soft, mourning whisper, her hand still hovering over the body. “He...I slew him myself. I was given an order and I...ran him through. I didn't want to, I...”

“You did your duty, Ser.” Duty interrupted from behind me. I really wish he hadn't. “You were ordered to...”

“Stop telling me that!” She screamed, slamming her sword on the stone pier with a loud and terrifying clang, sending the spirit cowering. He was only trying to calm her the way he had many times before. It didn't work this time.

“You don't need to punish yourself.” I brought her attention back to me and away from the cowering spirit. I didn't want her hurting anyone else. “Everyone deserves mercy, even you.”

I said that wrong. Instead of quelling her anger, she clenched her jaw, her eyes lit with a new flame. She was trying again to hide the pain behind her anger. “They didn't deserve to die! I should have fought _for_ them, not slaughtered them like animals. I _should_ be punished.”

I haven't forgotten that she's more than capable of killing me. I was frightened by her words, but I did my best not to show. “You _were_ punished.”

“No!” She choked back a sob, wiping her eyes with a filthy sleeve. “There is no punishment sufficient.”

“You're not helping anyone by hurting yourself. You have to let it go.”

Her anger cooled again, and I tried not to breathe a sigh of relief. She lowered her head again, but there was no weeping or anger this time. She simply slunk back, relaxed and relieved.

“Who are you, young man?” The visions were gone, and she saw me, the real me, not the one the pain showed her.

“I'm Cole. I came to help.”

I saw recognition in her eyes and her mind. “Wait, you're...”

“Yes.”

She glanced over at Duty, who was barely visible over the crate he'd hidden himself within. When he saw that she was calm, he emerged, moving through the crate like it wasn't there. The site of him seemed to calm her this time.

“Was...” She bit her lip in nervous thought. “Was anyone hurt when I...”

“No. They are afraid, but unhurt.”

She nodded, shame engulfing her, but relief as well. “That's good. I...don't usually get like this.”

“I'm sorry, Ser.” Duty joined us, his body slumped in submission. “I failed you. I am prepared to face the repercussions.”

She shook her head forcefully, but respectably. “No, Duty. You did well. You will not be punished.”

Duty gave a bow, before drifting behind her, standing at attention. She struggled to stand herself, leaning on her sword to give her balance. I reached out to help, but she waved me away.

“It seems I owe you a drink, friend,” she said as she tried to sheath her sword with dignity. Dignity eluded her, and she had to use her sword yet again to keep from falling over.

I grimaced. “I don't drink.”

She gave me a sad smile. “Of course you don't, my mistake, though I am still honor-bound to compensate you for your help.”

The smell of honey-wine told me that Maryden had moved to stand behind me, but she addressed Brice. “Did you run out of lyrium, Messere Brice?”

She shook her head, clenching her jaw in frustration. “No, I just...wasn't taking it. That shit...it has destroyed my life. I wanted nothing to do with it.”

Even as her anger flashed in my mind, it slipped away again, replaced by the cold of defeat. “But...it seems it holds me prisoner still. I...should take it again.”

“You can still try.” I whispered comfort to her. “I know someone in the Inquisition who quit. You can, too.”

She gave a weak chuckle. “Maybe, but the Inquisition is far from Skyhold and I...” She flinched from the pain, licking her lips before continuing. “I'm a danger until then. I need to get to my lyrium, but I ca...I can't...”

She hung her head in shame, leaning heavily on her sword. Maryden and I flanked her on each side, helping her to her feet. I leaned down and picked up her sword, and with our help, she was able to put it away.

At Brice's request, we avoided the busier parts of town as we headed back to her home. She was weak and in pain, but she worried about humiliating her father if she was seen in this state. No one saw us.

We entered the back way, through the kitchen. There were servants there, washing up for the night. They were familiar with Brice being in this state, so they turned away, as they had been instructed. She led us through the ballroom, down the corridors I remembered from before, to the other side of the mansion where her room was located.

The room was once a beautiful room, fit for an empress, but Brice's lyrium madness had taken its toll, even here. The gold-trimmed posts on the bed were snapped and splintered, the lavender quilt and white sheets scattered across the room. A large, ornate mirror was shattered, the glass shards splayed dangerously across the floor, and the intricately carved dresser was a shell, its drawers thrown about. It looked like a demon had torn through.

Maryden carried Brice over to the bed, helping her out of her filthy armor and boots, while I scanned the room. I could hear the song; soft, soothing, humming. The refined lyrium the templar's used had a sharper strain that still subdued and settled the soul.

I followed it to the window; the checkered glass shattered across the ground, the curtains strewn across the floor. Underneath one, I found an intact box, blazed with the flaming sword symbol of the Templar Order. The song was stifled, but I could hear it within.

“Maker...” I heard Brice whisper behind me. She was watching me. “I didn't expect you to find it so quickly.”

I carried the box over to her. Brice was now out of her armor, revealing a sweaty gray shirt and tan twill leggings underneath. She rested her head back on her soft white pillow while Maryden helped make her comfortable.

Brice took the box from me and placed it on her nightstand, opening it to prepare a draft of lyrium. While she was distracted, Maryden gently took hold of my arm, leading me out of earshot.

“I can't see the demon anymore, can you?” She whispered, her face so close to mine it made my chest tighten.

“He's not a demon, and no, I can't see him anymore.”

“Cole, that can't be good.” Her voice was urgent, but I also sensed a hint of concern and fear. “I know we had to help her, and I'm glad we did, but I still think we should get out of here _now_.”

“Duty can't harm anyone unless he's ordered to. Brice trusts us; owes us. She won't let him hurt us.”

“It's not Brice that worries me. It's the Marquis that controls that thing, remember? And we know _he_ means you harm.”

Maybe she was right. I could not see the spirit anywhere. I don't think he can make himself invisible to me, and he wasn't blocking me. If he wasn't here, where did he go? I glanced over at Brice, who had just downed the draft of lyrium the same way Varric takes a shot.

“Yes,” I said to Maryden, a little louder than a whisper so Brice could hear. “We should be going.”

“I will be alright,” the templar responded, placing the vial back on the nightstand and resting her head against the pillow. “You should go before my father...”

We were too late. Brice's door slammed open suddenly, and there stood the Marquis. He didn't look in our direction, his worried eyes fixated on his daughter.

“My baby girl, are you alright? I just heard.” He was by her side in an instant, leaning over to hug her.

“For the love of the Maker, Dad, please don't call me that!” Her annoyance with the epithet was very small. Her relief at seeing her father was much bigger.

“Duty tells me it was especially bad this time. You know you don't have to stop taking the lyrium. We can manage it.”

I felt Maryden's grip on my arm tighten, and I didn't have to read her thoughts to know what she wanted. I wasn't certain if the Marquis even noticed us, but we had to leave.

“Father, the price is too high. It's not worth it! I have to break free.”

I walked softly, making no sound as I crossed the room to the door. Maryden was surprisingly quiet as well; I could only faintly hear her footsteps on the rug. The door was still open, and it would be a simple thing to slip through and rush for the exit.

“I'm not having this discussion with you again. I won't lose my only daughter as long as I can provide.”

Or it would be simple, if a familiar spirit wasn't at the door.

The Marquis had not yet noticed us, but Duty was fully aware of our presence, and I could tell from his stance he wasn't going to let us leave. Which was kind of funny, since his lack of a body meant he couldn't really stop me even if he wanted to.

Still, it's not very polite to walk through someone without their permission.

 _Let me pass._ I knew Duty could read minds, like myself, so I projected my thoughts to him.

And he responded. _No._

I tried, but I also wasn't going to let a disembodied spirit keep me from my freedom. I put my hand in front of me, making my intentions clear and stepped forward.

I didn't move through him like I thought I would. It was as though I struck a solid object. The touch made me gasp a little too loudly and recoil, and I even saw Duty fall back as though I had shoved him, his eyes widened with shock. He wasn't expecting it either.

Apparently I can touch him. And that was not a good thing right now.

And it got worse. “Father!” I could hear Brice nearby, and her tone had changed. Her voice was still weak, but it was forceful and panicked. “Let them go! They saved me.”

If I had any hope the Marquis hadn't noticed us, it was gone now.

“And I am grateful.” He turned towards us, standing regal as he addressed us. “I thank you for helping my daughter, young man.”

“You're...welcome.” I wasn't sure what else to say. “I'd like to leave now.”

“I cannot allow that.” His voice sounded more sinister in my mind than it actually was. “Stay and dine with us. I must repay your kindness.”

Maryden stepped around me. “Your hospitality is welcoming, but I'm afraid we have duties elsewhere.”

I heard footsteps outside the door, and I glanced over to see two guards join Duty. Or, at least, stand near Duty; I don't think they could see him. The blue uniform with ruffled sleeves told me they were not City guardsman, but the Marquis personal guards. I don't think we are getting away through the door.

“I must insist, Serah Halewell. You and your companion shall eat with us, and we can discuss how best to thank you.”

I didn't like the sound of that. I quickly scanned the shattered room, looking for a way to get out. With the door blocked, the only way was through the broken window. There were still shards, sharp shrapnel clinging to the edges. Going through would probably hurt.

“You must know by now I did not lie to you, Cole.” He took a single step in our direction, and I responded by stepping away from the door and him. He sighed in calm frustration, but didn't move closer. “But I will confess I didn't tell you everything. Yes, my daughter's lyrium comes from the Carta, but I didn't order them to kill you. I have no interest in seeing you dead.”

“I don't believe you.” I really wish I could read him. Blinded, barred, blocked, I had to go by my gut instead of my reading.

“Your presence here has thrown the Carta's plans into chaos. Varric knows too much, thanks to you. They can't assassinate him, of course; he has far too many connections. But you do not. They want you out of the way, preferably by way of the grave. You survived their last attempt, but they will come for you again.” He motioned for the guards to enter the room, and they did so obediently. “I offer you an alternative to death. Stay here, let me find out how you became human, and I promise I will keep you safe from the Carta.”

“No.”

Maryden spoke from behind me. “Not true! The Inquisitor stands with Cole. 'Tis foolishness to think to bring him harm.”

“You expect me or the Carta to believe that, Bard? Did you not write a song of the Inquisitor's companions? Where was he in it?”

I could feel Maryden slump behind me.

“I will not let the Carta destroy you. You are far too valuable. If you will not come willingly...” He motioned towards his guards, who drew their swords and approached us menacingly.

We had no choice. I grabbed Maryden by the hand and rushed to the window. I didn't have to tell her my plan; she jumped through the window ahead of me, landing with a thud and a grunt on the other side. I followed close behind. The exertion aggravated the pain in my side, but I did my best to ignore it.

I was disappointed to find we were not outside. Just like the garden at Skyhold, it was an internal garden, located at what I could only guess was the center of the mansion. This wasn't going to be as easy as I thought, but that didn't mean I was going to give up. I pulled Maryden to stand as best I could and we both rushed into the yard.

The sound of clinking glass and loud thoughts of cursing told me the guards were close behind us. I drew my daggers, but didn't look back, instead ducking behind a row of evenly spaced trees. Maryden was behind me, frightened, but trusting me to lead her to the exit...or entrance in this case.

There it was! An arched double-door leading back inside. I sprinted towards it as fast as my legs could carry me, opening it outward and ducking in. It led into one of the many identical hallways I saw earlier, not helpful in knowing just where I was. At least I knew I was on the ground floor.

Where to? I could see an upwards staircase on one end, with the hall extending past it, and several doors leading into rooms to the sides. The stairs were not where I wanted to go, but maybe past them.

I saw one of the guards rush around the staircase. I couldn't stop him from seeing us, but it was clear that way was not good, and we both ran to the other end of the hall. It led to a T, and so I picked the one that took us away from the garden and kept going.

This place is a maze; I don't like it. Most of these rooms were empty anyway, why did he need so many rooms? I suppose I can think about that after I escape. I ducked down yet another hallway, taking advantage of the maze to confuse our pursuers even as it confused me. After a few turns and still no way out I could see, I had to stop.

Maryden and I were both breathing hard, but we needed to sort out where we were. Nothing looked familiar; I don't think we were anywhere near the kitchen or ballroom. Navigating a person's feelings is so much easier than navigating a house.

“We could try a room,” Maryden said between breaths. “If it has a fancy door, or double doors, there's a good chance it has an exit.”

I nodded, but I wasn't sure which room to try. If we picked the wrong one, we could end up trapped. It was better than constantly running down these pretty corridors.

I saw a flash of hot, green light, and dove to the ground just in time to avoid it. Maryden gasped, and ducked behind a potted plant, barely avoiding a bolt meant for her.

Duty was at the end of the hall, his eyes still empty of expression and emotion, but full of focus and determination. I could see his disembodied hand began to grow, forming into another ball of energy. He wasn't trying to kill us, but he wasn't going to let us run either.

I gripped my dagger in my hand and charged towards him, just barely stepping out of the way of another bolt before catching up to him. I sliced at his chest, but he glided to the side, avoiding my weapon. He was faster than I thought, faster than the wraith-like spirits I fought against before, but not fast enough to avoid my second dagger. Even as the first slashed nothing but air, the second followed close behind and connected with his “arm.”

Duty growled, backing away as he grabbed at his arm. It didn't bleed like a normal wound, not without a body to contain real blood, but instead released a green mist, like a boiling kettle. He still held his arm as a wounded soldier would, the “blood” seeping between his fingers, barely contained.

I expected him to come at me again, but instead he slinked back, melting right into the wall behind me and out of sight. I knew he hadn't give up; if he had been ordered to capture us there wasn't much we could do to deter him.

I ran back towards Maryden, my daggers still in hand, and I looked around at the doors, trying to decide which one I should try. One door did stand out. It was a double-door, like the one that led to the garden, though it was square and rather plain looking otherwise. It was the most unique door in this hallway, however, and it had the best chance of letting us escape.

“This one,” I called to Maryden and opened it outwards, ducking inside as quickly as I could. It was dark; almost pitch black. Not a good sign if we're to escape, but I saw what looked like a glimmer of light on the opposite side. I rushed over to it, hoping it was a window or the crack of a door.

It was a window, but not the kind you could crawl out of. It was tiny and high up. This was not the way out.

I realized this too late. I heard the doors slam behind us, bringing out a startled cry from Maryden and plunging us into total darkness. I heard a shuffle, and then a click as a key was put in place. We were locked inside.

A gruff, muffled voice came through the door. “There's no getting out of this room. Stay here, while I go tell his Lordship we got 'em.”

The Marquis got his prisoners after all.


	9. Confessions

Don't panic, don't panic, _don't panic_! I fell to my knees, my hands against the wall, trying to keep my breathing even and calm. It was hard. There wasn't much I hated more than to be imprisoned in darkness, alone, starving, dying...

Despite my efforts, a whimper escaped me. _Don't panic!_ I covered my eyes with my hand. Strange how making darkness of my own, that I could control, helped with the darkness I couldn't.

I felt warm arms enfold me, pulling me close. Maryden's chest was soft and warm against my cheek, the gentle scent of honey and lavender filling my lungs, and I wrapped my own arms around her, holding her in a tight and comforting embrace. “I'm here, Cole. It's okay.”

It helped. My breathing soothed and my heart relaxed. The room was still dark, but I was reminded, again, I wasn't alone. I couldn't think of anyone I'd rather be with right now.

I felt Maryden remove one hand from me, and I heard the snapping of fingers. Instantly the room was aglow, piercing my closed lids with bright light, and I blinked a few times before opening them fully.

My eyes surveyed the area, and I saw what looked like an empty storage room. I lifted my head, letting my hands fall to her waste so I could get a better look. There were bare shelves all around, and a large wardrobe set haphazardly in the corner, but there was little more than dust and spider webs here. The tiny window was the size of a brick and higher than I was tall. Even if it wasn't boarded up, we wouldn't be able to fit.

There were two lit torches in the room. “How did you know there were click-candles in here?” I asked.

“I didn't. I just thought it was worth a try.” She caressed my cheek, drawing my attention back to her beautiful brown eyes. “Are you alright, Cole? I've never seen you so upset before.”

I swallowed before I nodded. “Yes, thank you. I was scared, but not so much now.”

She smiled sympathetically and amusingly. “I did not know you feared the dark. How quaint!”

“No, not the dark. Not by itself.” I stood up, trying my best to ignore the chill that hit me when we parted. “I don't like being trapped, imprisoned, caged. Bad things happen when they lock the door and walk way.” I gazed at the window above me, then searched around the room for something I could use to boost myself up to it.

“Who's 'they?'” She stood up after me. She could sense what I wanted, and she walked over to the wardrobe, opening it to see if anything was inside.

“Templars.” The wardrobe was empty, save lots of dust and a pretty spider that scurried into a crack in the old wood. The spider didn't like the torch light.

She nodded knowingly as she reached in to touch the inside of the wardrobe. “So you _are_ a mage, then? I suspected as mu...”

“No, I'm not a mage.”

She stopped her search long enough to stare back at me. I didn't return her gaze, instead looking at the shelves to see if any of them could be moved.

“I...see...” She cut into the silence with confusion. She crouched down to search the bottom of the wardrobe, but found nothing. She closed the doors and turned her attention to what I was doing instead. “I don't think either of us will fit through that, Cole.”

“No, we can't.” I was staring up at the dark window. “Can you move the wardrobe over here?”

She didn't hesitate to move to the side of the wardrobe and begin pushing it towards me. She was strong, but even the empty wardrobe was heavy for her. I rushed over, grabbing the other side, and between the two of us we were able to move the heavy closet to stand directly under the window.

“Thank you,” I said as I jumped up, grabbing the edge of the closet and trying to climb. I felt the dull ache at my side again, warning me not to work too hard, but I ignored it. The wardrobe wobbled under me, threatening to tip over, but Maryden held it on the other side to steady it. It wasn't long before I was on the top and able to get a closer look at the window.

The “window” turned out to be more of a vent. The wooden boards nailed against it were probably placed there during the winter to keep the heat in. I pulled out one of my daggers and wedged it behind a board, near the nail, and pried it loose. My dagger didn't like doing this, wasn't meant for this, but it was willing to help.

The force of removing one of the boards caused the wardrobe I was on to give a frightening shake. I grabbed the edge to steady myself, looking down at Maryden as I did so.

“Sorry, I wasn't ready for that.” She tightened her grip. “See anything useful?”

“I think it leads outside. If I can open it, maybe I can get help.”

Someone pounded on the door outside, and we heard a muffled shout of a man from the other side. “Be quiet in there, you two. Don't make me come in there.”

“Maybe you should keep it down,” Maryden whispered to me.

I shook my head. “He can't come in here. He doesn't have a key.”

“How do you know that?”

I didn't answer. I pried the last board from the vent and peered in. The vent had a metal grate in a diamond crisscross pattern, open enough to let light through, but still hard to see. I pushed my dagger between the grating and the cement wall and worked to pry it loose.

“Cole?”

I was focused on my task, and didn't quite register that Maryden was talking to me.

“Cole!” The second time was a little more forceful, enough to smash through the barrier of my mind to demand attention. I stopped working on the grate to listen.

“Yes?”

“Why does the Marquis want you?”

I did my best to keep my voice calm, but her inquiry made me nervous. “The Carta wants me dead. I messed up their plans for Varric by telling him they were keeping him from meetings.”

“He said he wanted _you_ , though. To study you. He...he said you 'became human.' What does that mean?”

I think I stopped breathing for a moment. I forced myself to take a heavy gulp of air to calm myself. “I'm human now.”

“What were you before?”

The question was too direct. I didn't like it. “I was...different.”

I worked on the grate with a vengeance. My dagger wasn't happy with me. I think the tip broke off.

“Was that what you were going to tell me earlier?”

“Yes.” I grabbed my other dagger, the one that still had the tip, and started chipping at the grate again. My side was hurting more and more, and there was a hard throbbing in my head, but I refused to stop. I had two corners loose already.

“Do you want to tell me now?”

 _No!_ “Maybe...”

I had another corner loose, and the metal grate bent inwards. I put my dagger away and grabbed the loose edges, pulling and bending it till it came out with a loud crack.

“You got through?” Maryden exclaimed. “Can you see anything?”

I handed the bent and twisted grate to her before I peered through the tiny hole. The sun was coming down now, but I could still see trees, flowers...a familiar bench. My hope sank.

“It leads to the garden...not outside.”

I heard her groan. “All of that for nothing?”

One of the trees was close. I reached my arm through the hole, leaning in till I was up to my shoulder, and felt around for a branch. In this position, I couldn't see, so I flayed around trying to find something to grab. When my hand finally touched something smooth and velvety, a leaf, I latched on with my fingers. It was just enough to pull it closer and get a better grip on the branch itself.

“Sorry, I need this.” I whispered, hoping the tree would forgive me. I pulled and twisted at the branch till I felt it crack and snap, separating from the trunk. A good tug towards me and I had a leafy branch in my hand.

I climbed down from the wardrobe. Maryden patiently waited until my feet were on the ground before she let go. “What do you plan on doing with that?”

“Picks...I hope.” I wandered over to the wall, sliding down to sit against it. Varric had taught me how to pick a lock after I became human; it was harder to steal keys when everyone could see me. He hadn't taught me how to make my own picks, though. I wasn't sure this would work with wood, but I wasn't going to give up! I broke off one of the smaller twigs and used my dagger to start whittling it thin.

Maryden took hold of the rest of the branch and sat down close beside me. Very close, with our shoulders touching. The closeness felt good, but the confusion I saw in her mind did not.

“So...how does one become...human?”

I searched for the right words. I didn't want to answer. I really didn't. “I found a young man. A mage, apostate, thrown into a dungeon by templars. He was left there to die, starving, and I tried to save him.” I never looked at her, keeping my focus on the stick I was carving. “I...couldn't. So I became him.”

“That's...horrible. I'm sorry.” Her sympathy was real, and such comfort was welcome. It still hurt to talk about the real Cole. “So, you took his form?”

“Yes. And his name. And his memories. It was really _his_ parents that died in Fereldan. I sometimes confuse what was him and what was me.”

“What _were_ you?”

The dreadful question came back. “I was...something else. Does it matter? I'm not _that_ anymore!” She flinched, and I instantly felt bad for getting upset. I let out a soft sigh, calming myself. “I'm sorry. You....wouldn't like what I was before.”

She laughed at that last comment. She didn't believe me. “Why not? I like all kinds of people, Cole.”

She still thought I was some kind of mage, despite my denial. “I wasn't 'people.' I was a...”

I still hesitated. I knew it was unavoidable at this point, but I still felt the need to delay it as long as I could.

“A...what?” She pressed. Why did she have to press?

I had no choice. “A spirit.”

There it was; I said it. Like a rock thrown into the middle of a still pond, it's ripple to grow before crashing against the shore, it took a while for her react.

I dared to look at her, and I saw the realization dawn on her face. Lips parting as her jaw slacked, eyes going wide. She still wasn't sure she heard right.

“Spirit? As in...from the Fade?”

“Yes.” I looked away again. I didn't want to see that look from her anymore, but I couldn't escape the fear that I sensed from her. It was fear and pain matched only by my own.

She shifted, and she was no longer touching my shoulder. It was only a small movement, but she may as well have fled to the other side of Thedas.

“Like Duty? Like...from the Breach?”

“I wasn't Duty. I was Compassion. And...I tried not to be a demon.” I regretted mentioning demons the moment I said it. It made things worse.

“Maker have mercy.” A whispered prayer filled with terror, stifling and suffocating. She stood up abruptly, rushing over to the other side of the room.

I wanted to get up to, chase after her, call to her! But what could I say? Her view of me was shattered and splintered like wood, just like my soul.

* * *

 

I didn't want to carve the picks anymore. I felt cold and alone, and I hugged my knees to myself. Even the throbbing ache at my side couldn't match the tight pain in my chest and throat.

I could see Maryden, on the other side of the room, leaning against the empty shelves. She didn't look at me, and I tried not to look at her. It was very hard.

The sun still shined through the newly opened vent, telling me we had not been sitting long. It felt like we'd been sitting like this for days. I wish I could make myself invisible again. Make her forget me. We were both in pain, and I was helpless to stop it.

Even through my own pain, I could feel hers, and hear her thoughts. _'Andraste save me, have I been deceived? So gentle, kind, like no one I have known. Our kiss a lie? Our love a forgery? We even...Maker we...'_

“It wasn't a lie!”

I blurted it out without thinking. My sudden voice made her jump, staring at me with wide, terrified eyes. If she could have melted into the shelves behind her, I'm certain she would have.

“Sorry...” I looked at the floor again, where I placed the half-finished pick and my dagger. “I can't help what I am. Or what I was.”

“You did not tell me. You beguiled me?”

“You hate spirits. I didn't want you to hate me, too.”

“It should be my decision, mine to choose!”

“Yes, it was wrong...”

“You swept me off my feet! Seduced me! Why?”

“I didn't know I was. I just wanted to help you help people. Your songs make people happy, harmonies that heal. I just...” Words were hard right now.

There was silence again. Her thoughts were racing again, but I blocked them out. It didn't seem right to read her thoughts right now.

“Does Varric know...?”

I nodded. “Yes, he knows. He helped me become more me. More real.”

“...And the Inquisitor?”

“Yes.”

“I don't believe it!” I flinched at her anger. “The Inquisitor? He murders demons, he does not friend them!”

“I'm not a demon!” _Not anymore!_ “He knew what I was, what I am. He trusted me.”

“That doesn't make sense. The Inquisitor...”

“Knows more about spirits than you.”

She went silent and looked away. I sat and fumed. She didn't need to be afraid of me. She'd know spirits are not all demons if not for the lies the Chantry taught her. And templars. And most mages. And most books. And the rifts...

I guess it isn't entirely her fault she's afraid. This would be easier if I could blame her, but I couldn't.

The sound of voices, jangling keys and a fiddled door latch distracted us both from our conversation. I stood up just as the door swung open, and we were greeted by Brice, in the same armor she wore before, and two guards. And Duty, standing well behind them all, blocking their thoughts from my mind.

“I'm here to take you to a more appropriate room. Come quietly and you will not be harmed.”

“We were only trying to help you!” I was still irritated and angry after my quarrel with Maryden. “Why would you betray us?”

She glared back at me, cold and unfeeling. “I bear no allegiance to you, _demon_. Father's orders. Are you going to come quietly or not?”

The guards drew their swords, emphasizing the threat. It seems we didn't have much choice.

They placed shackles on our wrists and pulled us out of the room and down the hall. None of us spoke, Brice leading the way, the guards just behind us with swords still drawn. A quick glance back revealed that Duty followed close behind. I could tell the guards couldn't see him. Neither could Maryden. I wasn't sure if Brice could.

We traveled down several hallways before one of the guards starting getting anxious. Something wasn't right. “Messere Brice, forgive me, but there are no rooms down this way. Shouldn't we have taken the stairs from the last corridor?”

Brice stopped in the middle of the hall, but said nothing. She was thinking, I could tell, even if I couldn't read her thoughts.

She didn't turn to look at us. She simply gave a short sigh, before saying one word. “Duty...”

“Duty?” The guards were now confused, and a bit wary. “What does duty have to do with...”

I glanced behind me in time to see the spirit float up to them, raising his hands above us all. I felt the familiar presence of spirit magic, a hush that touches your mind to manipulate your thoughts. I felt it, but I was not the target.

Both guards calmed, a glazed look falling over both as the spirit invaded their minds and manipulated their thoughts. Duty's disembodied voice floated into the thoughts of the guards. ' _You will return to your daily posts and remember nothing.'_

The guards obeyed, marching back down the hall as though in a trance. It wasn't until they were out of sight that Brice turned to face us, giving a loud sigh of relief.

“Stay calm, both of you. I'm setting you free.”

She produced a set of keys and proceeded to remove Maryden's shackles, then mine.

“How did you do that?” Maryden asked as she inspected her wrists.

Brice gave a rebellious smirk. “Don't worry. Duty is following _me_ this time.”

Maryden gave another start as Duty revealed himself to her, just as irritated as she was frightened. “By the Maker, stop that!”

“My apologies, Ser,” the spirit responded politely.

“No time to speak.” Brice gestured us to follow. “We're not out of here yet.”

We didn't have any other option but to trust and follow. She brought us to the end of the hall, to a large and spacious foyer. There were two elven maids inside, performing mundane cleaning duties, and they looked at us curiously as we walked by. Brice made a quick gesture in their direction and Duty floated over to them invisibly. I could feel the shroud he placed over their minds. They would have no memories of us.

We came upon a large, gold-gilded oak door that I instantly recognized as the front entrance. Brice led us as far as the door, putting her hand on the latch, but not quite opening it yet.

“I intend to tell my father you escaped and wiped the memories of our guards. I'd prefer father ignorant of Duty's role in this; and mine.”

She was speaking to me. She still thought I had all the abilities of a spirit. “Alright, but I can't do what Duty did anymore.”

She waved the thought away with her hand. “My father doesn't know that.”

I smiled at her. “Thank you for helping us. I'm sorry I doubted you.”

“Not knowing my real intentions made the deception more believable.” She opened the door, gesturing for us to exit. “I suggest leaving Kirkwall, Cole. Between the Carta and my father, it's not safe for you here.”

I shook my head. “I can't. I have to help Varric and the people here. They need my help more than ever.”

She glowered at me. “You've done enough, believe me. I will not protect you if you stay.”

“I can't leave. My work isn't done.”

It didn't take her long to realize who was the more stubborn of us, and she let out a defeated sigh. “I know better than to argue with a spirit and his purpose.” She made a quick glance at Duty, and I swear I saw the spirit smile. Weird.

She opened the door and gestured us outside. “If you insist on staying in the city, know that neither I nor Duty will help you again. If you tread on my father, you tread on me.” She closed the door behind us with a loud thud.

* * *

 

We didn't tarry long. Maryden and I walked back towards the outskirts of Hightown, silently. The silence would have been eerie and discomforting if her mind wasn't a storm of questions and befuddlement. I wanted to block them out, but knew I couldn't. She didn't say a word for the longest time, but she may as well have been shouting.

I didn't like any of the questions racing into her mind, and I dreaded which one she'd pick. I still wish I could take it all back, but it was done. She knew, and she'd always know.

“That...thing Duty did...” I could see her lovely eyes crease in confusion. “What...”

“He made them forget us so we could escape. They were not hurt, and they won't come for us.”

“Brice said you can do that, too?”

“No, not anymore. I'm too real now.”

“But you could before?”

“Yes.”

There was silence between us again as we approached the steps leading to Lowtown. “Have you...have you used that on me?”

I didn't want to answer. “Y....yes.”

“How?” There were angry accusations in her voice, forceful. She would not be denied an answer.

“I encouraged you to sing the songs that help.” There was more. Somehow she knew there was more. “And Varric told you what I was once, back in Skyhold. I made you forget his words so you'd stop knowing.”

She stopped, her eyes on the gravel road. I stopped a few steps ahead of her, looking back in her direction. Her fear of me returned.

I had to try and placate her. I had to try! “I only did it to help. I can't do that anymore.”

She glanced up at me, and I watched her back away from me slowly, never taking her frightened eyes off of me. I hated seeing her look at me like that. I hated it!

“Go back to Varric, Cole,” she choked out once she'd put considerable distance between us. “I...need to be somewhere else. I have to think about this.”

She spun on her heels and fled back to Hightown. Fled as fast as her legs could carry her. Fled from _me._


	10. The Sweet Lie

The sun finally set by the time I got to the Hanged Man. I welcomed the shadows: Masking my misery, a blanket of bereavement. My hurt remained hidden to all but me.

The rotten smell of the inn blasted me with nausea and I staggered back. Normally it would do little more than make my nose wrinkle, but I was weak right now. The smell was enough to make my eyes water and my knees threaten to give out. I kept my footing, though. I needed to keep my composure, or the more seedy denizens of this inn might detect my vulnerability.

I ran to Varric's room and was grateful to find it unlocked. Varric was inside, sitting at his table, stacks of papers all around him. He was busy working on one document in particular, feather quill scribbling words frantically. He didn't even notice me enter.

I closed the door behind me. “Varric?” My voice was soft, but it carried to him easily in the quiet room.

“Hey Kid.” He didn't even look up from his work. “Can you come back tomorrow? I'm in the middle of something right now.”

“Varric...” I couldn't hide the hint of a sob in my voice this time. It was enough to catch his attention, and he finally looked up.

“Shit! Kid, you okay?” Work now forgotten, he jumped down from his seat and rushed to me. My legs gave way to sorrow and I sank to my knees just as he joined me by my side. “Kid?”

“She knows...” My eyes grew wet and blurry, and I struggled to speak. His arm was around my shoulder in an instant, helping me to my feet.

“Who does? What are you talking about?”

I told him everything as he led me over to the table and sat me down next to him and his papers. I told him what I could; about Duty, Brice, the Marquis capturing us. I told him about Maryden confronting me, and telling her the truth. I let him know she was in Hightown now; she didn't want to be anywhere near me.

“Shit...” Varric said under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck. “I'm sorry, Kid. You gonna be alright?”

“No...” Another sob escaped me. “It hurts.”

“Not much beats heartache on the shit-that-hurts-scale.” He got up from the table, walking over to a cabinet nearby. “Sounds like the perfect time to officially introduce you to the wonderful world of drinking, Kid.”

He knew I wouldn't be able to stomach his favorite, so he shuffled through his “special occasion” bottles, looking for one he thought I might like. After tossing a few bottles to the side, he finally pulled out a tall, fancy bottle filled with a semi-clear liquid.

He uncorked the bottle, pouring a small amount into an ale mug he was fairly certain was clean. “Take it slow, Kid. It will help.”

I could tell it was a pricey liquor. Or wine maybe? These are the kinds of spirits I don't know anything about. It smelled fruity and sweet, with only a slight smell of alcohol. The fancy calligraphy on the bottle said it was Orlesian.

I held the mug in my hand and took a very small sip. It didn't taste quite as sweet as it smelled, a little sour, and it made my tongue tingle and my throat burn. It was just strong enough that I could only manage small sips, but it also warmed my stomach, which felt good.

“That stuff was a gift from a...'friend,'” Varric said as he watched me drink. I somehow doubted the person was a real friend, like Varric and I, but I was too hurt to dig through the old songs to find out. “It's called 'Lay Moe Sonjay Due,' or something like that.” I think he meant _'Le Mensonge Doux.'_ “My friend said it means 'The Sweet Lie,' because the shit is stronger than it seems. Should numb you up plenty without killing you in the process.”

That's comforting...I think.

“Want to play a game of Wicked Grace? 'Could help you get your mind off everything.”

“No.”

“Chess maybe?”

“No.” It came out as a sob. Rhys used to play chess with me at the Spire. Another person I loved rejecting me for what I was; the pain was too much like Maryden.

Varric furrowed his brow and sighed in pained frustration. He knew he'd said something wrong. “Do you just want to talk then?”

The warmth in my stomach was spreading to the rest of my body like a flame. “I don't want to be human anymore.”

He grimaced. “Yeah, I can't say I blame you right now.”

“No more changing, no more growing, I want to go back. I want to be Compassion again. I don't want to be this. This hurts!”

“I don't think that's possible anymore, Kid,” his voice was gentle, but firm. “And I wouldn't let you even if it was.”

I felt my face go hot with rage, my hands gripping my mug tightly. “This is your fault. I wouldn't be this if not for you.”

“No, probably not.” His voice was nonchalant, calm, and it only made me angrier.

“You should have let me kill the templar! Then I wouldn't be this! Then I could go back to the Fade and be me again. I could still help and heal the hurts without being hurt myself. I didn't want to be this. I just wanted the amulet to work so I couldn't be bound, broken, brutalized, betrayed!”

I slammed my fist on the table, hard enough to make it sting and throb. “I didn't want to eat. I didn't want to drink. I didn't want to fall in lo...” I couldn't bring myself to say the word, not without my pain forcing past my anger to make itself known. I was breathing hard, the hand holding the cup tense and white from gripping it. I was trying not to cry, but it was a fight I couldn't win.

Varric didn't move. He simply stared at me, a stoic look of concern and pity. I hated that look, even if I knew it was exactly what I needed right now.

“Are you done, Kid?” He spoke in a hushed tone, unaccusing and understanding.

I lowered my head, looking at my empty mug. I felt defeated. “Yes.”

Varric picked up the bottle of _Le Mensonge Doux_ and poured more into my mug. I hadn't even noticed I finished the first shot. “As you know, Kid, I work closely with a lot of people. Humans, dwarves, elves. Nobles, merchants, peasants. And if there is one thing I've learned through it all, it's that those who have suffered the most, and got through it, are the ones who can appreciating life most. They are the ones who know true happiness.

“If you're wondering if I've ever had doubts that pushing you to become more human was the right thing to do, the answer is 'yes,' I have. Every day I wonder if I did you a disservice; if you would have been better off if Solas had had his way and you were allowed to forget everything. I wonder if you would have been better off forgetting everything that makes you you, instead of putting you through the forge to see if you could be refined into something better.”

“But you know what, Kid? I don't regret it at all. I know it hurts like hell, but just like a cut or a bruise, it will heal, and you'll be stronger and happier for it. If you had erased that pain, you'd never know what real joy is. And I'm sure as hell not apologizing for giving you _that_.”

“You think this will make me better?” I found it hard to believe.

He shrugged. “Worry about self-improvement later. Give yourself time to grieve first.”

I took another sip of my drink, if only so I didn't have to look at him. It was going down easier now, and I took a larger gulp this time.

“Do you think she'll ever accept me?”

“I wish I could answer that, Kid. It's entirely up to her.”

I was really hoping for a more comforting answer than that, even if it was a lie. Of all the times he chose to be truthful...

“I'll be sure to have a talk with her. I've known Diva longer than I've known you and I can easily describe her as...persuadable. I think I can get her to see things our way.”

I glared at the strangely blurry dwarf. I knew what “persuadable” meant. “You shouldn't keep tricking her like that.”

“She wouldn't even be in Kirkwall if not for my 'tricks,' so don't knock my methods.” He poured even more wine into my mug, and I surprised myself with how eager I was to drink it. “She's bound to realize it's in her best interest to accept you. And if she doesn't...” Varric smirked and shrugged. “That's _her_ loss.”

I smiled back and nodded numbly, even if only half my heart was in it. I did feel better now, warm and comfortable. I wasn't sure if it was Varric or the _Mensonge Doux._

“Thank you, Varric.”

I finished my mug, much faster than when I started. The pain in my heart had dulled to the point that I barely noticed it. All I could feel was warmth and calm. I was glad I had this talk with Varric.

I stood up to leave, a little too quickly. If I had any doubts before as to whether the alcohol affected me, it was confirmed after the room tilted suddenly and I almost fell. If I hadn't quickly grabbed my chair, I'd be on the floor now.

“Whoa, Kid!” Varric was trying not to laugh at me. He wasn't doing a very good job of it. “I warned you that stuff was stronger than it seemed.”

I couldn't remember anything after that.

* * *

I don't know how long I slept, but I didn't feel very good when I woke up. My tongue felt dry, puffy, and numb. My stomach was twisted in knots, and my head hurt. The drinking helped the night before, but it wasn't so helpful afterwards.

It didn't help that my bed wasn't very comfortable either, and it took me a minute to realize this wasn't mine. It was lower to the ground, firmer, and smelled differently, like fresh earth and stale ale. The quilt covering me was thick and warm, the most comfortable part of the bed. As the fuzz of sleep faded, I realized I was in Varric's bed.

A vague memory emerged of him helping me walk to a bed and tucking me in. For some reason, I thought he'd taken me back to my own room – it was just down the hall – but he had taken me the short distance to his own.

“Calm down, he was just confused.” I froze in shock at the sound of the voice. I thought I was alone, but a quick glance at the table proved I wasn't. I saw Varric...and I saw _her_. “It happens to traumatized spirits, or so Chuckles tells me. He doesn't do that shit anymore.”

Neither of them could see me. Varric's bed was in the dark section of the room, with only a small amount of light filtering through a tiny window above the bed. With no lanterns lit here, the shadows kept me hidden. I could see them just fine, however, and hear them.

I could see Varric's face, a stack of paperwork to one side and a mug of ale on the other. The amount of papers he had in the complete file, and the fact that he obviously hadn't slept in his own bed, told me he'd been up all night working.

Maryden was standing, but I saw her slump down in a chair at Varric's table. “I think I'm going to be sick.”

They had been talking about me. She now knew the story of how I became what I am; became Cole. Varric had also told the story of my time in the White Spire, when I murdered mages to stay real. He was putting it all out there for her, because I couldn't.

“Don't be so dramatic.” He did have sympathy in his voice, despite his words. This was difficult for him. He knew he needed to tell the truth now, but the truth was a very hard thing. “He can't do that shit anymore.”

“Because he's more 'human?'” I could tell from her tone she didn't entirely believe it.

“After all the craziness you and I have seen, Diva, is that really so hard to believe?”

Her back was to me, but I could see her shoulders slump as she leaned back in the stone chair, defeated. I noticed then she had a bread ball in front of her that she'd been slowly eating. A cheesy biscuit?

“I just...I don't know what to think. This scares me. _He_ scares me. I don't know what he had planned for me”

“He's not what you think, Diva. He's a good kid who just wants to make the world a better place.”

“How do you know? Demons are master tricksters and manipulators. Maybe that's just what he wants you to think.”

“I know what the Chantry teaches, and I also know the Chantry is wrong.” Varric let out a sigh of frustration. “And even if they were right, the Kid is more human than spirit now. He couldn't influence you like that even if he wanted to.”

There was a brief amount of silence between them before she spoke up again. “I really want to believe you, Varric.”

“I know you do, that's why you're here. You wouldn't come to me asking about the kid if you didn't have your doubts.”

“He admitted to messing with my head. How do I know he didn't trick me into falling for him?”

“Well aside from the fact that he can't anymore, he wouldn't. Hell, he didn't even have any interest in women before now.”

“Maybe he still doesn't...” I heard a choke of pain in her words. I would have made the same noise if I wasn't trying to be quiet.

“He wouldn't...” Varric let out a sigh of frustration and defeat. He was getting tired of repeating the same thing over and over again. “He's the real deal, Diva. If you believe anything, believe that.”

“I don't know what to believe anymore.” I could hear the pain and doubt in her voice. Despite my own frustration, it made me ache for her. I wanted to help her, reassure her, but even I knew I was the last person who could. “Regardless of what you think of him, he still lied to me! Even the De'Voirs knew what he was when I didn't!”

“Only because they have a spirit of their own that told them.”

“So it was just me and Aveline who didn't know?”

“Well...actually...”

The sound of frustration that came out of Maryden reminded me a lot of Sera. “Why am I the only one he kept this from?”

“Your fear of demons, maybe? And...” Varric hesitated, but set his jaw in determination. “I kinda told him not to tell you.”

There was silence between them again. I couldn't see her face, but I could still imagine the shocked look she must be giving him. Varric shifted uncomfortably under her stare.

“Varric?” Her voice was hushed, questioning.

“Look, he told me you were scared and asked for advice. I fully expected that we'd get Kirkwall up and running again and you two would go your separate ways. I saw no reason to tell you something I didn't think you needed to know. I certainly didn't foresee your relationship getting so...complicated.”

She stood from her chair, putting her back to Varric. This also meant she put her front to me, and for a moment I was afraid she would see me. She didn't.

She crossed her arms in front of her, her brow furrowed in thought. “How do I know he hasn't been messing with your head, too, Varric? Maybe he's been manipulating _you_ this whole time.”

Varric gave a short laugh. “Maybe the Kid is conspiring to spoil all my best story plots. He's good at that.”

“Be serious!”

He let out a sigh, standing up from the table himself and walking over to her. He didn't place himself in her sight, setting himself just behind her. “Diva, this may come as a shock to you, but I have experienced demonic temptation before. There was a time I went into the Fade with Hawke, and a demon convinced me I could screw over my brother the way my brother screwed over me. I almost killed my best friend for a demon's promise.”

Varric stopped, shaking his head from the memory. “I've heard others describe it as being like you're in a dream, which makes sense considering where we were. I wouldn't know. For me it was more like being pleasantly and dangerously drunk. The world feels hazy, you can't tell what is real and what isn't. And, yet, everything looks and feels _right_. You just...want to go along with whatever someone tells you. You don't question it, even if a more sober you would have told you it was wrong.”

Her face softened, and she looked down at the ground. I could feel her sadness, confusion, doubt. Again I felt the pull to help her...or maybe the “pull” I was feeling was something else...

“Point being, you don't know if your mind is being messed with _while_ it is happening, and you don't question it, but you sure as hell know afterwards. Do you know what it's like to say, 'Sorry, I tried to kill you at the bidding of a demon? We're still friends, right?' It's a good thing Hawke is the forgiving type.”

She faced Varric. “So you're trying to tell me that the fact that I am questioning it is proof he's not controlling me? That doesn't make any sense!”

“Fine, Kid is controlling your mind then.” _Varric_! “Imagine the horror! An evil demon, making you do unspeakable things! Like calming lyrium-addled templars, giving candy to homeless dwarves, and giving free performances in Alienages. All against your will. The nerve!”

Oh...maybe he was just being sarcastic. Varric can be really dramatic when he wants to be.

“Okay, maybe that last one really _is_ evil – I seriously need to teach that kid the value of money – but I hope you get my meaning. Before becoming human – and believe me he's far more human than spirit now – he was Compassion. He just wants to help people. Can you really find fault with that?”

She was silent again. I think Varric was getting through to her, but it was so hard to distinguish her emotions from my own right now. With her back turned to me, I couldn't see her reaction either.

She mumbled something under her breath (I couldn't quite hear it) then spun around and started marching out of the room and out of my sight.

“You can leave town if you really want to, Diva. No one will stop you. Just know that finding compassionate people in this world is hard enough. Finding a man who literally embodies it? Do you really want to squander an opportunity like that?”

Silence again, before I heard the door close. She was gone.

Varric must have heard me shuffling out of bed. “You awake, Kid?” His voice was gentle and soft.

“Yes,” I answered.

“Feeling better?”

“Yes, thank you for speaking to her.”

Varric both snorted and laughed. “I hope she sees reason.”

I remained silent.

“In the meantime, I think Brice was right. You should lay low for a while, stay out of the way of the Marquis and the Carta. No need to put you at risk before I get a few things...settled.”

Varric was planning something. I didn't quite understand it, but he seemed to think it would help a lot of people. “Alright.”

“Good. Now that that is out of the way, I have a long overdue rendezvous with my bed.” He smirked impishly. “So if you would kindly get out of my room, I'd appreciate it.”

* * *

I did my best to avoid her for the rest of the day. I spotted her every once in a while, either sitting at the bar or playing sad tunes when she performed. I wanted to go up to her and talk to her, hold her, kiss her, but I knew that would only make things worse. Staying away was best, but staying away was so hard.

There were plenty of hurts to heal, people to help, a worthy distraction, but I could never really take my mind off of her. Not since Rhys had I known anyone to consume my every thought, my entire soul. Rhys was my _only_ friend back then, though. I had lots of friends, now. Yet none quite held my heart like her.

Despite trying my best to keep my distance, I did run into her again before the day was done. Workers were retiring for the day and going home to eat their supper, and I went to Varric's room to see if he was finally awake. I really wanted to be with a friend right now.

I didn't want to disturb him by knocking, so I reached for the door handle, only to see the door swing open before I could even touch it. I expected to see Varric.

It was Maryden.

She gave a start, and almost retreated right back into the room at the sight of me, but she didn't. She was clutching a very large book in her arms, but I couldn't see the cover. I stared at her, and she stared back, wide-eyed like a deer staring at a wolf. I didn't like that look from her. It made my heart hurt. I wanted to say something to her, reassure her, but I knew it would do no good.

“Sorry,” I said lamely, stepping back in the hopes of appearing less scary. “Is Varric awake, yet?”

She hesitated, still clutching the book to her the way a child holds a stuffed toy, before shaking her head. “No,” she whispered. “He's still asleep.”

“Oh,” I could manage to say. I wanted, _needed_ to say something more, something that would fix all this. I didn't know what.

She stopped looking at me, deciding for some reason that the floor was more interesting. She could easily go around me, but she stood there, clutching the book so tightly her knuckles turned white. She was either waiting for me to do something, or she was getting ready to say...

“You lied to me.”

It came out as a cold, hoarse whisper, a chunk of ice thrown into a bonfire. It was true...but...

“I didn't know if you'd accept what I was,” I spoke in a similar hushed voice, though I tried to add warmth to the situation. “I didn't want you to hate me.”

“That should have been my decision.” She looked up at me now, and I could see the anger in her brown eyes. “Not yours.”

Now I was angry, too. “I can't help what I am. What I was.”

“What you _were_ was a demon; a master of deceit and lies.” It was hard for her not to shout, but she didn't want to attract the other patrons in the inn to our conversation any more than I did.

“That's not fair!” I cried, feeling a prickly wetness behind my eyes. “Spirits don't always lie. That's a lie.”

“You did. What further proof do I need?” I didn't respond to that. I couldn't, I was so angry and hurt and frightened, the words lodged in my throat. So she continued. “You could have at least told me the truth before you bedded me.”

I hung my head, trying as hard as I could to hide the tears in my eyes. I wanted so badly to become invisible again, to make her forget me. Make me forget her.

“I'm sorry...” was all I could manage. It was weak and pathetic and I regretted it instantly.

I heard more than saw her move around me, slowly but angrily walking out of the inn. I felt the anger come back again. I had one last thing I knew I had to say to her.

“I'm sorry I'm not who you want me to be!”

I heard her stop, briefly, as though she wanted to say something back. She had no response for me, though, and I soon heard her hustle through the bar and out of the inn.

* * *

I didn't see her for several days after that. She didn't leave Kirkwall, as she had told Varric, but she stayed out of the Hanged Man, and even Lowtown. All her time was spent performing and staying in the taverns in Hightown. It was both a relief and a regret. Not seeing her made it hurt less, but it also made me _want_ to go see her. Why is it so hard to let go? I guess as long as there is hope, I will cling.

These thoughts made it harder to help people, too, but I kept trying. Helping people was all I had now, and it made me feel better each time. My current project was a large bear of a man, weeping openly on the other side of the table at the Hanged Man. He needed help from someone else, someone who was on the way, but I needed to distract and comfort him until then.

“I hated the job,” he sobbed, wiping his eyes with a dirty sleeve. “But I needed it. My wife is with child. How am I supposed to take care of them _now_!”

His name was Ranulf. He'd come into tavern already drunk; loud, volatile, and itching to fight. He wasn't a cruel man, though. I sensed the kind and gentle nature that attracted his equally gentle wife to him. But even the most kind and gentle soul can be pushed beyond patience.

“Be strong.” My voice was reassuring, but also firm. He wanted compassion, but not coddling. “Work will find you here, if you are patient.”

“How the fuck can'shu possibly know that!” he shouted at me, the drink slurring his words. He took another swig of the smelly drink in front of him, already well beyond tasting it. “Who the fuck would want to hire someone like me? There are no mines in operation, construction has been on standby for over a year, and...and...” He went cross-eyed, his body swaying as the drink began to take its toll.

I slowly reached over, carefully removing the mug from in front of him while he was unawares. I didn't want him passing out before...

“Cole, there you are! Aveline marched into the bar. “Is Varric in his room?”

I knew the answer, but I had more pressing issues right now. “Hello, Guard-Captain. This is Ranulf. He was hoping to get a job as a guard. Will you hire him?”

It wasn't why she came in here, and she looked at me perplexed for a moment, before turning her attention to the drunk man sitting with me. He also heard what I said, and stood from his seat suddenly, trying not to sway from his drunkness. He wiped his hands on his shirt, doing the best job a sloppy drunk could do at looking presentable.

“Are...are you hiring, Guard-Captain?”

Aveline glanced at me again, confused. I smiled and gave her a quick nod.

Ranulf slapped his own face in a desperate attempt to sober up. “I'm strong. I used to fight in the Civil War in Orlais. I can use a shword...I mean s....sword. And a bow, too. I'm a good shot!”

Aveline only gave a cursory glance at the man, before looking at me again. “Are you vouching for him, Cole?”

“Yes, he will be better tomorrow. He will make a fine guard.”

She huffed, shaking the confusion from her head. “Alright, soldier, you're hired. Report to the Barracks tomorrow morning...no...make that afternoon. I'll meet with you there to discuss your training.”

“Yes!” He smiled goofily, stumbling out of his chair. “I...I will. Thank you Captain-Guard. Thank you, boy!” He staggered drunkenly out of the inn. He'll have a headache tomorrow, but it will be a happy headache.

I smiled at Aveline. “Thank you for helping him.”

“That's not why I came here, Cole.” She was slightly exasperated, but she was pleased with my compliment. She was also happy to have a new guard, even one that made a poor first impression. “Is Varric in his room. I need to speak to him immediately.”

“Yes,” I answered.

She gave me a quick nod of thanks and marched towards the back. I got up and followed her. Something big was happening, and I wanted to help.

She pounded on the door three times, the dull boom of each strike resonating across the entire inn. “Varric! Are you in there?”

We both heard the muffled sound of a papers shuffling and a chair scraping, before the door opened.

“Aveline! Good to see you.”

“Varric,” she glared at him, but her eyes betrayed a sense of amused approval. “What have you done?”

At first he cocked his head in confusion, then grinned widely and laughed. “They came, didn't they? I knew they'd come through for me.”

Aveline didn't look amused. “Bran has called an emergency meeting at the Viscount's Keep. All the nobles are demanding you be there. _Now_!”

“Sure, sure, let me gather a few things. Hey, Kid,” he pointed at me, and Aveline turned in surprise. She didn't know I'd followed her. “Get into your Inquisition uniform. You're coming along.”

“Varric we don't have time to...”

“There's always time to prepare for a dramatic entrance, and I intend to make an impression. You are welcome to either wait for us or go to the Keep and tell them we are on our way.”

I saw her bristle, prepping herself for a shouting match with the smug dwarf. She resisted. “Fine, just don't take long! The place is a mad house right now.”

“Good. That's exactly what I was going for.” Varric grinned. “This is going to be fun.”


	11. Complications

I will never understand why people wear uncomfortable clothes to uncomfortable meetings. They should be trying to make themselves less uncomfortable, not more. Still, I did as Varric told me and put on the uniform. I didn't button the collar, though.

I made sure to grab my daggers this time; hiding them in my boots since I couldn't take my sheathes. Varric's friend, a pirate he called Rivani, showed me how to do that while she was in the Herald's Rest between missions. I liked her; she loved hats as much as I did.

The thought of hats drew my eyes to the white-cedar box I had sitting on my night stand. I set it slowly on my lap, staring at it for what must have been a very long time before I opened it. The hat Maryden gave me was still inside, eager to be worn and displayed at last.

_Maryden_. The sight of the beautiful hat left me feeling sad. I had looked forward to being able to wear it, but now it only brought back sad memories. Did I really want to wear the hat? The hat I got from her?

Yes, I did.

Varric was already waiting when I finally came out and we headed to Hightown together. He was carrying a stack of papers in his hand and a wide smirk on his face. There was even joy in the way he walked. He was looking forward to this meeting a lot more than I was.

We found Aveline sitting outside the Viscount's Keep when we arrived, and she wasn't alone. My breath caught in my throat when I saw Maryden, leaning against the side of the keep where she had just been talking to the Guard-Captain. She wore her traditional Orlesian outfit, her hair put up in a fancy braid, and her lute slung over her shoulder. She stole a glance at me, just long enough to note my presence, before turning her attention towards the ground instead. 

Aveline was now genuinely annoyed, glaring at Varric as he approached. “You certainly took your sweet time, Varric.”

“I always like to be fashionably late,” he said with a smirk.

I only heard their conversation in the back of my mind. I couldn't take my eyes off of her. It seemed like ages since I'd seen her, and she was as lovely as ever. It made our meeting hurt more.

“Diva!” Varric was as surprised as I was to see her. I could see him looking at me, a flash of pity in his eyes, before turning politely back to her. “I didn't expect you to be here.”

She stood up straight, moving away from the wall to address him. “I was performing at a party for the Vico...erm... _Provisional_ Viscount, when it was called off abruptly. I had nowhere else to be, so I came to find out what the fuss was about.” Her eyes flickered towards me again. I could see sadness in her eyes, too – a sadness made worse at the sight of my hat – but she quickly turned back to Varric with a smile. “I should have known you had something to do with this.”

“Am I that predictable?”

Aveline interrupted. “Are we ready? The Council is waiting for us and they are _not_ happy.”

Varric marched inside, followed by Aveline. Maryden fell in step with the Guard-Captain, and I followed her at a distance.

Maryden had just reached the entrance to the Keep when she stopped, forcing me to halt as well. I'm not sure why; it just didn't feel right to walk past her. She stayed like that for a while, and I could sense she was fighting with herself over something; something that weighed on her mind, even though she wished it wouldn't. I wasn't sure what it was, and I didn't dare dig deeper into her mind to find out. I simply waited patiently.

It wasn't long before she gave a long drawn-out sigh of surrender, spun on her heels, and marched straight towards me. I froze. I didn't expect her to come anywhere near me. I was filled with both hope and dread. Was she coming over to scold me? Did she want to try and reconcile? What did she...

She was directly in front of me now. She wasn't looking at me, more at my chest and neck, but not my eyes. I stared at her, taking a big gulp after my throat became mysteriously tight.

“You can't go looking so untidy, Cole.” She reached her hand up, took a hold of my collar, and buttoned it. She focused completely on my neck, never looking at my face, her calloused fingers only lightly brushing against my ultra-sensitive skin. “Nice hat. It compliments your uniform.”

My breath caught in my throat, preventing me from responding. I wanted her to linger, to look at me, but she only stayed long enough for the deed to be done. Without another word, she spun around and, with extra speed in her step, charged into the Keep.

* * *

Aveline was right. We could hear the yelling from the hall before we'd even entered the meeting room. Anger stemming from confusion stemming from something Varric did. Varric went ahead of us, throwing the double doors open with a flourish. The yelling stopped and all eyes turned to him. He seemed very large right now, and he loved it.

“Looks like I'm missing a party,” he shouted loudly, surveying the room. Most of the nobles were inside the loges, some standing due to fits of anger, and some sitting. They stared dumbfounded, with Provisional Viscount Bran straight across from us.

The most notable figure, however, was the Marquis De'Voir. He was in the center of the room, looking both polished and frazzled. He was doing his best to appear regal and in control, but I could sense his panic and confusion underneath it all.

_I could sense his emotions! Duty wasn't here!_

“Sommer!” Varric noticed him as well. “So good to see you here! How is your daughter?”

Now I sensed his anger, though it was obvious from the red in his face and the balling of his fists. “You've overstepped your bounds, Varric!” he growled. “This task was given to me, not you!”

“Oh, yes, and you've done a stellar job rebuilding Kirkwall.” Was that sarcasm? I think that was sarcasm. “Has it been, what, six years now? And look at all the progress you've made.”

The Marquis glared at Varric, but the color drained from his face. “There were complications...”

Aveline gestured for Maryden and me to follow her. We moved away from the door to stand to the side where we could watch the proceedings unheeded from below the stairs. Everyone was fixated on the drama in front of us and didn't seem to take note of our presence.

“I'm well aware of the 'complications,'” Varric stepped further into the room and climbed the stairs. He was in control now, and he knew it. “Workers, building materials, supplies. Hard to get those things into Kirkwall nowadays. I understand, of course, and so does the council.” He reached the top, standing almost toe-to-toe with the much taller nobleman. “Which is why I decided to step in and help out.”

The Marquis opened his mouth, but it was another noble on the side that spoke up. He was an older man, balding hair, ruffled sleeves, and loud red-plaid pants. He was angry, too. “Do you have any idea what you've done, Master Tethris. Wagons upon wagons have appeared on our doorstep, demanding we let them in to unload their cargo. No one was informed these shipments were coming in and we are completely ill-prepared.”

“Tis worse by zee docks.” I recognized this noblewoman. “We 'ave a dozen ships outside our 'arbor zat cannot get in. Zere's too much damage and debris to accommodate zem. We 'ave nowhere to put zem.”

“My Lady Durand,” Varric addressed her politely. “I did make sure to specify that all ships be small enough to enter our harbor.”

“And zey are, but we cannot 'old so many at once. You should 'ave consulted us first.”

“What's the fun in that?”

“Serah Tethris,” the Provisional Viscount spoke up. “There are rules and protocols that you are supposed to abide by regarding the shipment of supplies and goods. This is a violation of...”

“If you really want to talk about rules and protocols, Viscount...”

“ _Provisional_ Viscount.”

“...I suggest asking the Marquis why he failed so badly where I succeeded. All the wagons and ships that have come in are filled with supplies needed for the construction and rebuilding of Kirkwall. The same supplies Marquis De'Voir said was impossible to come by. I was able to do it, why couldn't he?”

All eyes turned from Varric to the Marquis. The change in target also changed the tone and mood of the room; from chaos and yelling, to judgmental whispers and focused accusations. De'Voir's face was already pale, but he held a stoic stance, even with all eyes falling back on him.

“Perhaps,” the older noblemen spoke up, taking on a more pompous stance, “we should make the dwarf the Chief Planner for Kirkwall's repairs, rather our horribly incompetent Marquis Sommer De'Voir.”

The Marquis face went from pale to red as he glared at the noblewoman, but he said nothing. He had no defense.

“As much as I agree with you, Lord Esco,” The Provisional Viscount said, “only the true Viscount has the authority to replace the Chief Planner. I am only in this position temporarily, so even I do not have the authority to remove him.”

There was noticeable relief in the Marquis' stance. He wasn't going to lose his job.

“However,” Bran said this loudly, ensuring he had everyone's undivided attention. “I can order our Chief Planner to work alongside Tethris to ensure the newly acquired supplies are applied properly to the reconstruction of Kirkwall.”

De'Voir didn't like that. “Viscount Bran, this is entirely unnecessary. Now that I have the supplies, I can assure you I can...”

“It's _Provisional_ Viscount, and I think I speak for the entire council when I note your extreme incompetence at performing your assigned duty. We simply cannot trust you to perform this task as is needed.

“Putting aside Tethris's rather...chaotic methods, he has succeeded where you have failed. Therefore, if Tethris will see fit to do so, we ask that he work alongside you as an equal partner to get our docks, business district, Chantry, and other construction underway and completed.”

The Marquis shook his head, “As much as I would look forward to working for Master Tethris, I'm afraid I must...”

“Tethris is free to decline my offer, De'Voir. _You_ , on the other hand, are not.”

The Provisional Viscount spoke with finality. The Marquis' face and stature fell. He was beaten.

Varric smiled. “I have no doubt that, together, the Marquis and I can make this city-state the greatest port on the Waking Sea once more.”

Varric extended his hand to the Marquis, who looked at but hesitated to take it. It was a pointless procrastination, and he reluctantly extended his own hand to Varric. “Yes...I'm sure we can work this out quickly and...efficiently, Master Tethris.”

* * *

The meeting was called, and the nobles hustled out rather quickly. Varric came over to our group long enough to inform us that he'd be hanging back to speak with the Marquis and the Provisional Viscount to work out the nuances of their alliance.

I watched as everyone exited the room, speaking among themselves of everything from the mundane (vacation planning, decor questions, which outfit to wear to the next party) to the more serious (how do we get a dozen ships into the harbor and where do we put all the cargo once we do?) I wasn't sure I could help with all that.

I turned my attention to the Marquis again. He was very unhappy with the arrangement, and his mind was racing with ideas on how he could deal with it. _What am I to do now? What is my dear Brice going to do? This is not how this was supposed to happen! I've been such a fool..._

I briefly wondered where Duty was. He was always near the Marquis when I was, blocking his thoughts from my mind with secretive purpose. Did something change? I wanted to help him, felt him pull at me for the first time, but I had my doubts the Marquis would accept my help.

We all sat on the benches along the wall, and I occupied myself with a coin I found on the ground. I couldn't hear anything with my ears, but I could still hear it with my mind. Varric's conversation wasn't very exciting. The Marquis, the Provisional Viscount, and he all sat around talking about various documents, protocol, and tasks they would have to perform in order to use the new supplies and workers they'd received. The Marquis was still fearful and fuming, Varric was still cocky and calm, and Bran was wishing he could go back to his canceled party.

I continued to stare at the coin, but let my mind wander to the others in the room. Aveline had pulled out a book to read. There was nothing on the cover, but the images in her head and the slight grin at the corner of her mouth said it was a comical one. Maryden was strumming her lute and humming, looking for the perfect tune that was eluding her.

She still wouldn't look at me. I didn't look directly at her, either, but I kept her in my sights in the hopes of seeing....I don't know. _Something_. I knew I should try and forget about her, but it was really hard.

I reached up to my collar, pulling on it due to the constriction it had on my neck. Despite the discomfort, I didn't unbutton it this time. I could still feel her touch on my throat, tingling, tickling, tracing.

Her close proximity made it impossible for me to simply ignore her. I needed to at least try to set things right. I knew it was wrong to deceive her, to let my desires and passion cloud my honesty. Maybe if I just said so, maybe she'd be...

I stood up, gingerly walking over to her. I fiddled with my fingers in front of me, keeping my head down and trying to look as nonthreatening as possible. I didn't want to frighten her.

It didn't take long for her to notice me, and she stopped strumming her lute to look up. She didn't look as scared this time, but I saw her body go stiff, her eyes giving me a cold look, and I knew she wasn't ready.

I backed away, faster than I had approached, and sat back down again. I could feel Aveline's curious and sympathetic eyes on me instead of her book, but I ignored her. I didn't care what she was thinking. I felt so helpless.

“Glad we could come to an agreement.” Varric's words broke through my melancholy, interrupting our thoughts, and we all looked up to see him grinning at us. He motioned us over, and we all climbed the stairway to join them.

The Provisional Viscount stood as grim as ever, and the Marquis had his back to us, his head down. Varric was still in charge, still the alpha, but he was no longer gloating. He wanted mercy for the Marquis.

“Alright, Marquis.” Varric said in a softer, compassionate voice. “Tell us what you know.”

He slowly turned around to face us all. His eyes were sunken in, his countenance completely faltered. He pulled out a flask from his belt and taking a brisk drink from it. He looked tired and I could feel the broken despair from him.

“Before I say anything,” his back was still to us, but he'd lifted his head to speak. “I want assurance again that you'll use your connections to get my daughter lyrium, Master Tethris”

Varric nodded his head slowly and sadly. “You know I hate having any dealings with the Merchant's Guild, but if it will help your daughter and save this city I'll hold my nose and do it. Now tell us what the hell happened to the funds you received? Why would you delay the reconstruction of Kirkwall?”

I was eager to hear what the Marquis said, but something else touched my mind; a feeling of dread and danger, and it wasn't coming from any of us. Was someone else in the room? I couldn't tell...

“I should probably start at the beginning then,” the Marquis stated. He refused to look at us, and his mind wandered to a time long past. “As you know my daughter, Brice, served at the Dairsmuid Circle in Rivain. So after the Circle was Annulled, she came home to...”

It all happened so fast that we barely had time to react. A bright flash of familiar green light struck the Marquis from behind, and he cried out in pain and horror. It enveloped his entire body, not leaving a mark, but it sucked the life out of him in an instant.

I drew my daggers in one swift motion, and I saw Varric and Aveline arm themselves as well. Were we under attack?

The Marquis fell to the ground in a lifeless heap, his face frozen in shock and betrayal. Even without seeing his attacker, he knew who had killed him, but it took his fall to the ground for us to see it, too. There behind him, with his arm outstretched and his face as cold and unfeeling as ever was Duty.


	12. Stabbed

The Marquis body lay on the ground, motionless, his eyes and mouth open wide in the shock we all shared. Dead, murdered, by the spirit that was bound to obedience.

But that was impossible!

“How?” was the first thing I managed to say. “He was your master! How could you...”

“He is not my master,” Duty responded calmly. “I was ordered to kill him...and all of you.”

An arrow flew from a corner of the room, hitting Bran in the leg. The Provisional Viscount fell to the ground with a scream of pain. It seemed Duty did not come alone.

“Shit, Carta!” Varric growled as he pulled out Bianca in one swift motion and shot at the source of the arrow. A Carta Dwarf, hidden behind a bench, became visible as he slumped to the floor. Aveline already had her sword and shield out and was charging towards a group of them that sprung seemingly out of nowhere. I couldn't tell how many there were. It felt like an army, but it was probably closer to a small band.

I dropped to one knee, pulling a dagger from my boot just in time to parry a sword-strike from above me. The dwarf was strong, and the strike almost made my hand buckle – sending a shock of pain and numbness down my arm – but I held firm. I heard Maryden cry out behind me where the Provisional Viscount was. It was a scream that gave me relief; it meant she was alive and unharmed.

I twisted my dagger in such a way as to force his sword to slam harmlessly next to me. The dwarf was so focused on the power of his swing that he didn't see me pull out my other dagger and stab him in the heart. He stumbled backwards, blood spurting from his open chest.

I didn't have time to keep an eye on him. Duty had vanished, but there were other Carta charging up the stairs, intent on murder. They didn't speak, most didn't even know or care who we were. They only knew that they had been given orders, and were prepared to follow them. Just like the spirit that started the assault.

We were completely exposed as long as we stayed in the center of the floor, and Aveline was the first to notice this. “Into the box!”

She gestured towards one of the loges, raising her shield to deflect another arrow. She charged towards the staircase to keep them away from us while we all fled into the safety of the box. Varric used Bianca to keep the Carta from coming up the stairs, and Maryden and I helped the Provisional Viscount. The walls of the loge were made of thick, solid wood, with a gap on one side, close to the stairs where we could enter. It would serve as a make-shift barricade, for now.

Maryden and I set Bran on the ground behind the railing. We were as gentle as possible, but he still cried out in pain as he hit the ground, and his wound was still gushing blood.

“This is why I don't want to be Viscount,” Bran growled through the pain.

“We appreciate your service, Viscount.” Varric shouted. He was now behind the railing with us, shooting Carta that got too close before ducking behind it again to avoid their arrows. Aveline quickly joined us as well, positioning herself in the entrance gap with her shield at the ready.

“ _Provisional_ Vi..GAH!” Bran cried out in pain as Maryden placed both hands on his leg in a vain attempt to stop the bleeding. The blood still gushed, slipping between her fingers till her hands were covered in red.

“Cole!” Her fear and anger towards me was forgotten as she gazed at me, pleading. “I have an elfroot salve and some clean bandages in my side pack. Can you get it out?”

She gestured with her head towards a small satchel hanging off her hip. I reached over, unlacing the ties and pulling out a glass jar filled with green paste and some large white strips of cloth.

It took four hands, several bandages, and the entire jar of elfwood salve to stop Bran's bleeding, but we did it. He was pale and weak from loss of blood, but he would live. A small victory in this chaos.

“Cole.” It was Aveline this time, gesturing for me to come closer, and I obeyed. She didn't want to shout where the Carta could hear. “Do you think you can sneak past these dwarves and get to the barracks? We need to alert my guardsman.”

“Yes,” I answered, crouching down and moving around her. Most of our attackers had hunkered down in the opposite loge, laying low so as not to answer to Bianca if they tried to show themselves.

Once I was confident the Carta was too busy avoiding crossbow bolts to take note of me, I ducked around Aveline and headed down the stairs towards the exit. I tried to stay close to the edge to keep any of the dwarves from seeing me.

The ones in the loge didn't see me, but one of the dwarves at the bottom of the stairway did. Or, more accurately, we saw each other. She was trying to sneak around the stairs to get to us, and I almost tripped over her on my way out.

Our mutual confusion didn't last long. She pulled her daggers and slashed at my throat, even as I pulled mine and ducked to avoid it. Her blade slashed harmlessly against my hat...at least I hoped it did.

I brought my own blade around to slash at her stomach, but she leaped back to avoid it. She was frighteningly agile, coming to my side in the blink of an eye to assault my flank. I turned just in time to deflect her, but it forced me back against the wall. Not good!

She sneered at me, revealing blackened and broken teeth. Her other blade came to bare, ready to strike, but a familiar whistling sound sent her flying backwards onto her back instead. It took a moment – and the sight of a crossbow bolt sticking out of her eye socket – for me to realize what had happened.

A glance back revealed Varric, who gave me a thumbs-up with his gloved hand. I returned the gesture gratefully.

There were no more obstacles between me and the door now, and the sounds of battle muted as the door to the meeting room closed behind me. The barracks were inside the Viscount Keep, but I had to traverse a closed hallway and through the main foyer to get there. They probably made everything sound-proof to protect their privacy, but it meant Aveline's guards couldn't hear the battle. The two guards left to protect the room were both dead, laying in pools of blood on either side of the entrance. They never even knew they had been attacked.

The hall was empty otherwise, but I was still leery. I traveled along the wall cautiously but swiftly, trying to keep my eye out for any more surprises. And it was a good thing I did.

I saw a flash of familiar green light in the corner of my eye, and tumbled out of the way just in time. It struck the wall behind me harmlessly, and I leaped to my feet in an instant, prepared to attack. The hall was empty.

Duty was here, but I couldn't see him. I scanned the room, spinning back and forth in an attempt to find the spirit. I can see spirits; he can't turn invisible to my eyes, which meant he was literally hiding. But there were few objects to hide behind in this hallway, save a few paintings, some chairs, and two large potted plants all up against the walls.

He probably slipped through a wall. He likes doing that.

Something shoved me from behind, sending me sprawling to the ground in an awkward heap. I was caught off guard, but I recovered, twisting around and getting to my feet much more gracefully than I went down. I faced the direction of my attacker but, once again, he wasn't there.

_I can still touch you, Compassion. Good._

He didn't speak so much as project his thoughts to me. Did he just shove me? He wouldn't have been able to do that with a normal person. Not good.

I saw something glowey and green from the corner of my eye, and I stabbed at it with my dagger. I didn't even look to see what it was, and my blade sank deep into the solid wall. In my frustration, I put too much strength into the swing, and I couldn't get the dagger out again.

A hard punch to the side of my temple sent me falling to the ground face first. My eyes watered, my vision blurred, and I was dazed. I tried to get back up, but my first attempt failed. I could only manage to get out of my prone position, and onto my back to try again to face my attacker.

I saw him this time, but only because he throttled my throat with both hands, slamming my head back to the hard ground. I gasped and gurgled at the same time as his disembodied hands proceeded to strangle me.

I grabbed at his hands around my throat, proving I could touch him even as he could touch me. The tight collar of my uniform didn't help, and I tried desperately to take in air, but I couldn't. Even with my vision blurry, I could see the spirit's face; cold and unfeeling, but determined. He was going to kill me unless I did something fast.

I still had one more dagger. I think I dropped it when he punched me, but I wasn't sure where. I kept one hand at my throat in my futile attempt to dislodge him, while I used the other to frantically search for my weapon, hoping beyond hope it was still close enough to grab.

I was already feeling light headed, and my lungs were on fire. I was certain I was done for, as I felt darkness take hold, when my fingers touched something just above my head. I reached as far as I could, and felt my fingers enclose around a very familiar handle.

I stabbed at Duty's neck, and he released me with a cry of pain. I felt the blood and breath rush back to me, and I inhaled so quickly I coughed, doubling over and massaging my throat. Breathing never felt so good, nor so painful before.

The blow I landed on Duty would have been deadly if he were real. Once again, I couldn't see him, and it's possible he fled in order to recover like he did last time, but somehow I doubted it. I knew he was under orders to kill me, and it would take more than a simple wound for him to abandon his orders.

Sure enough, I saw him slip through a wall, shooting a ball of green light towards me just before disappearing. I ducked out of the way and sprang to my feet.

His ability to walk through walls was very annoying.

My gaze fell on my other dagger, the one I accidentally embedded in the wall. I considered pulling it out so I could wield both of my weapons again, but decided against it. Duty would just attack me as I struggled to pull it out.

The sight of the dagger gave me an idea, though.

I had to wait for him to come out, hopefully without him surprising me. Again. I wished I could have seen behind me, but for now I had to just keep turning, spinning back and forth as quickly as I could, and hope for the best. Every once in a while I thought I saw green in the corner of my eye, but as soon as I turned to face it, it was gone. Or it turned out to be one of the plants. I really hated being this exposed.

My alertness paid off. He tried to sneak up behind me, ready to strike me again, but I saw him a split second sooner. He hurled his fist at my head, but I ducked just in time, his hand swinging over my head. In the same motion, I spun around and stabbed him so hard it pinned his arm to his side.

He cried out in pain and fled from me again. Normally I would yank my dagger out so I could strike him again, but this time I released the handle. I was now completely disarmed, but my dagger stayed put in Duty's arm.

The spirit snarled at me, and even made a vain attempt to pull the dagger from his arm, but he couldn't. His hand just passed on through. So instead he backed into the wall again.

Or at least he tried to.

There was one thing that had power over spirits, and that was _will_. It was how my dagger could hurt him when normally it would pass right through him, because I _willed_ it to hurt him. Daggers are also real, and can't move through walls.

My dagger now served as an anchor that kept him here. When he tried to go slip through, the dagger prevented it.

Realization hit him instantly, and I saw horror on his face for the first time. I ran over to my other dagger and pulled it out with one good, hard yank. Seeing his fear tugged at my mercy, but I pushed it down. Duty murdered the Marquis, and tried to kill me and my friends. I wasn't going to let him hurt anyone else.

He moved away from the wall that was no longer his sanctuary and shot an energy blast at me. I ducked away rather easily, but didn't expect another right after. It struck me square in the chest, and I slumped to the floor like a rag doll. The blow didn't kill me like it did the Marquis, but it was powerful enough to make my heart stop, sink, skip for a split second. The blow itself didn't hurt, but feeling your body force itself to restart so you don't die hurts a lot. So does hitting the ground really hard.

I didn't have time to hurt, as Duty followed his blast with another. My body felt slow and heavy, but I still managed to roll to my side to avoid being hit again.

My body protested, but I got to my feet as quickly as I could, rushing towards the potted plant as yet another bolt came sailing towards me. And another. And another. The plant didn't offer much protection, but it was better than tiring myself out running.

Duty was in a frenzy. As annoying as it was for me, it was also good. As a spirit with no body, he was entirely made up of spirit energy, and each blast he shot at me drained him of his very essence. He could only keep up the blasts for so long before he weakened himself.

I could feel the poor plant begin to wither and die as it was hit over and over again. I feared it might give out before the spirit did, but the blasts stopped just as the dead, brown leaves collapsed to the side. I could see Duty now, although only barely. He was so transparent that I scarcely registered his green outline. If not for the dagger still sticking out of him, I'm not sure I would have seen him at all.

He was completely spent. Good!

I rushed out from behind the plant, dagger in hand, and charged at him. He floated clumsily out of the way of my first swing, but failed to dodge the blade when I brought it around to strike him across his face. He didn't make a sound, but I felt his pain and fear as he tried to back away from me. His incorporeal body moved through a chair and would have moved through the floor, if not for the dagger.

I was fully prepared to press the attack and end him but...I couldn't. He was in pain, exhausted and terrified. He wanted to escape, but he was trapped. He couldn't open doors, and he couldn't go through them like he normally could. He was fighting a battle he knew he couldn't win.

I tried to remind myself that he tried to kill me. Tried to kill the Viscount. Tried to kill my _friends_ , but I still couldn't do it. As human as I was, I was still Compassion and I felt sorry for him.

“I can make it quick.” I could hear the rough sound of exhaustion in my own voice. “I don't like hurting anyone, but I can't let you hurt my friends.”

Duty, laying halfway into the floor, simply stared up at me. There was sorrow and defeat in his glowing eyes. “I ca...cannot surrender. I...am forbidden...from death...Ser.”

“By who?” I tried to growl, but it sounded more like a whine. “If the Marquis was not your master, who is?”

He gave me a perplexed look. “I...thought...you knew...Ser.”

My words were interrupted by the main-hall doors swinging open. The elven guard I met when I first came here, as well as several behind her, stormed inside, stopping only when they saw me.

“What is going on?!” They all had their weapons drawn. It seems my fight with Duty was loud enough to draw them out.

It was also annoyingly clear they couldn't see him, but I had more important things to worry about.

“We're under attack in the meeting hall. Please help!”

* * *

 

With the guards alerted, they made short work of the Carta in the main hall. A few Carta were dead, and those that were not were promptly arrested and lead out by Aveline and her guards. They had to take the Provisional Viscount out on a stretcher, but all my friends were alive. Varric, Maryden; both were covered in blood, none of it their own. They were okay.

Duty disappeared in the chaos.

They had not yet come to collect the bodies, and Varric slowly walked over to the Marquis, kneeling next to him. His tone was not angry, even though the words were. “Maker's ass, Sommer, you shouldn't have messed with forces you couldn't control.” He reached forward, closing his eyes. It didn't make him look any less horrified.

“I'll send a letter to Brice letting her know what happened, though she may already know.”

She lost more than just her father. “She's going to be very angry when she finds out Duty killed him. She loved them both.”

Varric shook his head, balling his fist and pounding the ground in anger. “Idiot. Making deals with the Carta always ends in disaster, especially a Carta that got their dirty mitts on a spirit of Duty. No amount of lyrium is worth this.”

“But don't you make deals with the Carta, too?”

“Not the time, Kid.”

“Sorry.”

“Are you both daft!” Maryden's voice startled me, and we both turned to face her. She glared at both of us. “You automatically assume the Carta was in charge, but it was pretty clear to me the demon was. He's been playing us all for fools!”

I was stunned at her accusations, and wasn't sure what to say. Varric did. “He's a spirit of Duty, Diva. He's not in charge of anything.”

“That's what he wants us to think! How do we know he isn't just pretending to be subservient, while pulling the strings this whole time?”

“That's...” Varric was very angry, but he rubbed his head in an attempt to remain calm. “A possibility, I suppose, but not likely.”

“Not likely,” Maryden threw her hands up in frustration. “How do you know Duty, or whatever kind of spirit he really is, isn't the one in charge of the entire Carta? Have you ever met their leader?”

“Oh, you mean Karshol? Charming fellow; enjoys expensive ale, risky gambles, and pretending the assassination orders he gets from King Bhelen are a secret to everyone. I'm also pretty sure he's originally from Orzimmar and not the Fade.”

“How do you know Karshol isn't being controlled by that demon?”

They kept arguing, but I tuned them out. Maryden was angry – anger that stemmed from terror – but I couldn't help her. It made me sick to my stomach, so I tried to focus elsewhere.

The Marquis was dead, but I could still feel the echoes of his thoughts linger as he lay. The spirits across the Veil captured them, repeating them back to anyone able to listen.

_I won't let the lyrium kill you! My precious child, if only your mother could have known you. I failed you. D...Duty! Why?_

I tried to seek the memories for why Duty betrayed him, but I saw only painful and desperate visions of his daughter. No Carta crossed his thoughts and no answers.

The doors to the meeting hall were wide open as the guards cleaned up, and I noticed something on the ground in the next room. Something soft and colorful. My hat! It must have fallen off while Duty was choking me.

I walked over to it, picking it up off the ground to inspect it. Or, at least, what was left of it. There was a slice down the front where the dwarf cut it, from band to brim. The flower was crushed, its blue petals scattered across the ground, and it was filthy and ripped from being trampled on by guard boots. I wanted to be angry, but I was just sad. The hat was ruined.

“Come on, Kid, let's get out of here.”

I dropped the hat, and slinked towards Varric. He and Maryden had stopped arguing without consensus; they were just tired of fighting. So very tired. She wasn't looking at either of us, but her face still screamed anger and fear.

“Come on, Diva, you need to come, too. Duty is still out there, and he still wants to kill us, so it's best we all stick together till we find him again.”

She wanted to protest. She didn't want to be anywhere near me, now more than ever, but she also knew Varric was right.

“Alright, just let me get my things from the inn and I'll come to Lowtown with you.”

* * *

 

It was already dark by the time we left the Viscount's Keep. We stopped at one of the fancy inns in Hightown. Varric didn't want to go inside, grumbling about the place being owned by the Merchant's Guild, so we waited outside while Maryden got a few belongings. She didn't carry much, so it wasn't long before she emerged, and we silently walked back to Lowtown.

I wished now, more than ever, that I'd helped Maryden with her fear of demons before. The fear that made her argue with Varric, was not the typical fear the Chantry instilled in most. It was a fear that came from watching the Breach destroy the Temple of Sacred Ashes. It was a fear that came from seeing demons pour from the sky, their bizarre, distorted minds and bodies wreaking chaos across Haven. I didn't help her, because she turned the fear and pain into songs that helped others. For the sake of many, I thought it best to let the one suffer. Just a little longer.

But she hadn't written a song about the Breach in over a year. I should have helped her when I knew the songs were done. Now it was too late. She saw Duty turn on his master. In her mind she saw me doing the same; easing her into trust, seducing her, bedding her, only to eventually turn on her. It wasn't true, but I could not convince her otherwise.

My last hope was ruined, just like my hat. I would never get her back now, and my heart clenched in painful despair.

Normally when I feel this much pain and sorrow, I don't feel the pain of others. Mine was always too great, drowning out everything around me. So I was surprised when I felt the pull.

I stopped mid-stride. For pain like this to break through my own heartbreak, it had to be severe. Were they dying? Attacked? Sick?

No, not like that, but the pain was no less real.

“Kid? You alright?”

I didn't even realize I had tears in my eyes until I tried to see Varric, and only saw a watery blur. I quickly wiped my eyes and focused. “Someone is hurt.”

“By someone you mean, 'you?'” His voice was gentle, and he placed a hand on my arm.

“Yes...no...someone else. They need help!”

Maryden was ahead of us, but she stopped as well when she heard us talking.

“They have shitty timing,” Varric grumbled. “Alright, what kind of read you getting.”

I took a deep long breath, pushing my own pain down so I could better focus on the pain that was pulling. It was hard, but I concentrated. I needed to know I could hel...

Wait! What? It can't be...

“Kid? Anything?”

Varric barely registered in my mind. “I don't want to help.”

Varric and Maryden looked at each other in confusion. “That's...not the reaction I expected from you.”

I shook my head. I refused! I don't want to help. I faced the stairs to Lowtown again, prepared to walk away, but I couldn't move away.

My companions only looked on, not sure what to do. I had never acted like this before. When someone needed help, I helped them. I'd never questioned it. But I'd never faced a dilemma like this.

As always, when someone was in need, I couldn't resist. With a groan of defeat, I spun around and practically ran towards the source.

I barely registered the others following me. I didn't want them to. This had to be a trap, like the time Cupcake was murdered, but I could not _not_ help. I had to go.

I ducked into an ally, full of abandoned houses. It was once a thriving part of town, but now it was as rundown as Lowtown. There were no people here, but the desperate wailing was louder now. Loud enough that even Varric and Maryden could hear it.

“Well, that's not creepy at all...” Varric soft-spoken sarcasm was barely a whisper. Maryden wanted to run; but she resisted the urge and followed us.

As we got closer to the weeping, I pulled out my dagger. I heard the cocking sound of Bianca behind me as well. An odd feeling in my gut told me the dagger was not necessary, but I wanted to be prepared. I didn't trust this “weeper” one bit, and for good reason.

I stopped as my eyes fell upon the one calling me. He wandered around the center of the dilapidated ally, his head low, his cries echoing loudly in the night. He wasn't even looking at me, but his pain was so loud it was deafening. I couldn't hear anything else, not even my friends behind me. I didn't know if they could see him or not.

He was clear as day to me, though. So was my dagger that was still sticking out of his arm.


	13. Sworn

“Shit,” I heard Varric cry out as he brought Bianca to bare. “I see why you didn't want to help.”

Even with Varric's profanity and a weapon pointing at him, the spirit didn't seem to notice us. Duty had gained back some of his strength, as was evident by his strong green glow, even if he hadn't figured out how to remove my dagger from his form. Still, I don't think that was the reason he was wailing into the night like a tormented ghost, his hands wringing in front of him. It was a terrifying scene to behold, but I could only look on in confusion.

I'd never seen him like this before. Duty always performed his tasks with emotionless fidelity; ready to follow his orders with unhindered precision. This emotional display, though typical of many spirits, seemed completely out of character for him.

But as I watched, I became more and more convinced that this was no trick, trap, or treachery. His pain was real.

“Stop,” I put my hand up to block Bianca. I sensed no hostility from him this time. Something felt very...different.

Varric didn't put his crossbow away, but he also didn't fire it. “You sure about this, Kid?”

“No.”

Duty saw us this time and his crying stopped. He stared at us, his eyes disturbingly haunted. He didn't move to attack, even as he noted the weapons in our hands.

He was actively trying to block me again, but with very little success. Even without his mind open, I could tell he was assessing us, even as we assessed him. He must have known he couldn't take on all three of us; perhaps he was trying to figure out a way to carry out his order.

I heard Varric speak up behind me. “Make any sudden moves, Lackey, and Bianca will give you more than that knife to wail about!”

I saw the spirit's eye flick towards my companion, but he made no other movements. The thought that there may be Carta waiting in ambush crossed my mind, but it was easily dismissed. There was no trap and no ambush. Even a spirit can't fake the kind of misery I sensed from him. He was crying for help, and was just uncertain he'd get it from us.

I slowly approached him, blade still in hand though I did not brandish it. He knew I was coming closer, but made no reaction otherwise. He simply floated in place, looking miserable.

“Are you going to kill us?” I tried to keep my voice steady, but I couldn't hide the hint of anger and fear.

“No, Ser,” he answered.

“You said you were ordered to kill us.”

“I have no orders, Ser.” The hurt was even louder as he said it. He was struggling to hide his thoughts from me, or he was trying to decide if he still wanted to.

“You mean there was never an order to kill? You just did it because...”

“I _was_ ordered to kill, Ser, but...” He looked away, curling in on himself like a scolded child. I heard him whisper something, but I couldn't quite hear it.

“Duty?”

He said it louder the second time. “I've been...released, Ser.”

I didn't understand. “Released?”

“I've...I've been dismissed, Ser. I have no Commander. I have nothing.”

I understood now, and his pain became clear. Few things cause more anguish for a spirit than to lose their purpose, as it was the first step to becoming a demon. Without allegiance...

“Because you failed to kill us?” I wanted to still be angry at him, but I couldn't. He needed my help.

Duty shook his head. “No, Ser. My success evoked my punishment. She ordered the death of Sommer De'Voir if he spoke, and I carried out the command. When I reported my success she...released me.”

_She_? “Brice?”

“Yes, Ser.”

“Brice is your Commander?”

“ _Was_...Ser,” Duty corrected me, a strangled sob escaping his voice. “She is no longer.”

“Whoa, whoa,” Varric stepped forward, waving Bianca in front of him. “You trying to tell me your master was Ser Brice? A _templar_?”

“Yes, Ser.”

Varric looked at me, baffled, but I had no answers for him. “I thought the idea of dwarves summoning spirits was insane. How the hell does a templar summon a spirit from the Fade?”

“She didn't summon me, Ser. I was summoned before we met. She took command of me after my master was slain.” He hung his head in sorrow, though I wasn't sure if it was for his slain master, or because he was still without one. When he lifted his head again, I saw desperation and torture in his eyes. “I am nothing without a Commander. I have no duty without someone to tell me what to do. Ser, would you...would you be willing to...”

“Oh, no!” Varric gave a hostile laugh, Bianca's sites never leaving the spirit. “You can't just tell us one master is dead, the other releasing you, and expect us to just take you up just like that.”

“Please, Ser.” His voice cracked with untamed despair, his hands twisting so much I would have feared injury if he'd had a body. “I am nothing without someone to command me.”

“We're not doing anything for you until you answer some questions for us.” Varric said stubbornly.

The spirit couldn't hide his disappointment, but he nodded. “Yes, I'll answer as best I can, Ser. I have no orders of silence.”

“To start,” Varric lowered Bianca again, glowering at the cowering spirit. “Who summoned you?”

“I don't know, Ser.”

“Don't play dumb. How can you not know who summoned you?”

“I always make myself forget when I gain a new master, Ser, that I might serve them without hindrance.”

“You don't remember any of your previous masters?”

“I have not removed my memory of Brice, but other than her? No, Ser.”

“But you do know you were summoned? You didn't just get dragged here through the Breach or a Fade Rift?”

“I was summoned before the Breach, Ser.”

“Alright, fine, so we at least know your original master was a mage. So how did a templar become your master?”

“After my previous master was slain, she took command of me, Ser.”

“Convenient.” That was the sarcastic Varric again. “And it doesn't tell me shit. Do you at least remember how your previous master died?”

“Slain, Ser.”

“Can you be more specific?”

“No, Ser.”

Varric let out a sigh, and was about to ask another question when he was interrupted by...Maryden? “It probably happened when the Dairsmuid's Circle was Annulled.”

We all spun around to face her. She stared back timidly, surprised at our surprise.

“Come again?” Varric asked dubiously.

“Brice was a templar at Dairsmuid's Circle, remember?” We didn't respond, still looking at her in confusion, so she continued. “You do know _why_ the Seekers evoked the Right of Annulment there, don't you?”

I saw Varric relax his shoulders in realization. I had forgotten it as well. The Rivaini were similar to the Avvar when it came to how they viewed spirits. Unlike the mages of southern Thedas, the Rivaini respected and revered them. They summoned and communed with spirits regularly, and even deliberately allowed their mages to be possessed.

Spirit summoning and possession; that was all the excuse the Chantry needed to have the mages wiped out and the Circle destroyed.

“You're from the Dairsmuid Circle, too?” Varric asked Duty.

Duty nodded. “Yes, Ser.”

“How in the Maker's name did _you_ survive the Annulment?”

“I didn't possess a mage, Ser. The templars only killed the abominations. It was easy for me to flee and hide, as I was commanded to do.”

“Clearly Brice found you.”

“Yes, Ser. She and I have been friends for a very long time. At least...we _had_ been friends.”

The pain within him returned, and he didn't even try to block me this time. I could see the source as though I had been there. Brice had already been with the circle for several years, gaining the rank of Knight-Captain, before Duty was summoned by an unknown mage. By that time she was fully accustomed to – and even accepting of – spirits and possessed mages in the Circle. Very unusual for a templar, but the distance, isolation, and cultural differences in Rivain made for strange reconciliations.

I recalled Brice's trauma when I found her in the throes of lyrium withdrawal and the visions she saw. Death; the mages of Dairsmuid, murdered by her hands after carrying out the Annulment. Duty found her outside the city, her armor covered in blood, her soul in despair. He was also in distress, having just lost his commander and everyone he'd cared about. Two souls from the same tragedy cleaved to each other. She had accepted his loyalty and service without hesitation.

He didn't just feel the hurt of losing a commander, but losing a friend, too.

“Moving on then,” Varric interrupted our thoughts. “Why did you murder the Marquis? Why would Brice order you to kill her own father?”

“I do not know, Ser. I follow orders. I do not question them.” He said it as though it were the most obvious thing, while still retaining a haunted, baffled look.

“Why would you take orders from him if he wasn't your commander?”

“She ordered me to obey him, Ser. She even told me that he outranked her, as her father. That is until she revoked his rank after he enraged her. I stopped taking orders from him after that.”

“Pretty sure that's not how most rankings work, Lackey.”

“My commander determines how rankings work, Ser. I simply follow their guidance.”

Varric gave a grunt of annoyance before whispering to me from the corner of his mouth. “Is this spirit for real?”

“No,” I answered in a similar whisper. “He's a spirit. They're not real.”

“Right...” Varric didn't seem to think I understood him. I thought I understood him just fine. “So Brice removes her father's ability to command you, then orders you to kill him. Her own father.”

“Yes, Ser.”

“Why?”

“I do not know, Ser.”

“So what about the Carta? Did she order them to kill Sommer, too?”

“No, Ser, I cannot defeat you alone, so I asked them to assist me.”

“And they just did so out of the goodness of their hearts, I suppose?”

Duty didn't understand Varric's humor. “No, Ser. He was threatening to reveal their plans to the Provisional Viscount. They agreed that he had to be stopped.”

“Do you have any loyalty to the Carta?”

“No, Ser,” Duty shook his head. “I obeyed them at the behest of Sommer De'Voir.”

Varric paused a moment, letting Duty's words sink in. He didn't realize this, but his questions were keeping the spirit calm. Even without a master or commander, as long as he was able to obediently answer questions, he was fulfilling his purpose as a spirit of Duty. That helped.

“So just what was the Carta planning? Why would they want to prevent the rebuilding of Kirkwall?”

“To keep the city weak and make it easier to eventually take it over, Ser. Lord De'Voir needed their lyrium, and so they forced him to direct the rebuilding funds to them instead.”

“So the Carta has all the funds?” Varric shook his head in disappointment. “And here I thought I might get my money back.” Despite his financial disappointment, Varric was done questioning him. “What do you think, Kid? Is he trustworthy?”

“Yes.” Despite his failed attempts to block me earlier, I knew he was being honest.

It was enough for Varric, and he put Bianca away. I put my dagger away as well. “So, now we have to decide what to _do_ with him.”

“He wants one of us to be his Commander.” I reminded him. “He needs someone he can obey.”

Maryden spoke up. “How about we just command him to go back to the Fade where he belongs.”

“Nah, I'd rather keep him, Diva,” Varric said as he looked over the nervous spirit. “Brice is still out there, and she clearly wants us dead. The Carta may still be an issue as well. I want to keep Duty around for a while until we can find out why.”

Maryden didn't like the idea one bit.

“Which means one of us is going to have to take command of him.” Varric slowly approached the spirit. Duty looked at him anxiously, but didn't move or flee. He already knew what Varric was about to do and was bracing himself for it. In one quick motion, Varric grabbed my blade from Duty's arm and yanked it out. The spirit made a sound somewhere between a grunt and a whimper, but made no other complaints. He was grateful to have it out. “Do you have any preferences, Lackey?”

Duty only looked to each of us in confusion. “I...I will accept whomever will accept me, Ser.”

“I could always give you to Diva.”

“Don't you dare!” Maryden was not as amused by the idea as Varric was.

The look on Duty's transparent face suggested he didn't like the idea either. “I...don't think she likes me, Ser.”

“Then I guess that settles it.” Varric turned back to us, flipping my dagger expertly in one hand. He gave it one more toss and caught the blade on the flat side, avoiding any cuts before holding it out to me. “He's all yours Kid.”

It took me a few heartbeats to realize what he meant. “Wha...I thought you would take him.”

“Not interested. Besides, might be good for you to have a henchman for a change.”

“Bu...but I don't lead, I follow.”

“There's always a first for everything.”

“We could ask Aveline. She knows duty. The emotion, I mean...not the spirit.”

“Kid...” His whisper took on a serious tone, taking my arm and placing the handle of my dagger into my palm, forcing me to take it. “I still don't fully trust this spirit, but we may need him.”

“I help people; 'duty' doesn't matter to me.”

“I can help, Ser,” Duty spoke up. He was staring at us, wringing his hands in front of him again as the distress began to slowly build up. He was going to start wailing soon if we didn't decide. “I will do whatever you ask of me, Ser. I will show kindness and heal those in pain at your behest.”

“You tried to kill me!” My throat still hurt, too.

“Yes, Ser, but I no longer have orders to kill you.”

Was I this naive when I was a spirit?

He didn't understand. He wouldn't, though. Spirits are too focused on a single goal to see the bigger picture. They even make themselves forget if it means they might lose their purpose. It kept them from learning. I'm glad I wasn't like that anymore.

I put my weapon away in a failed attempt to avoid eye-contact with Duty. He was completely focused on me now, still wringing his hands in agitation. He had been a problem for me since I got here, and now I was to give him orders. I didn't like it, but he needed me. He needed my help. That much I understand.

“Alright, Duty. You can help me help people.”

His stance change was almost instant. He stopped wringing his hands and looked at me, his body standing at attention like a good soldier. “Yes, Ser! I will be a true servant of compassion by your instruction.”

He _really_ didn't get it. Still, it was better than letting our enemies have him, I guess.

“With your permission, Ser,” Duty continued. “I'd like to commence with wiping my former master from my memory.”

That didn't sound good. “What?”

“I will make myself forget her, that I may better fulfill my service to...”

“No!” Varric and I both said it at once, and Duty only blanched in surprise.

“Ser?”

It was Varric who responded. “We're keeping you around partially because of your knowledge of Brice. You are not allowed to just forget her like that.”

“I do not understand, Ser.”

“Not this time, Lackey. We need your knowledge of Brice.”

“With all due respect, Ser, I do not wish to split my loyalty. I can serve better if I'm allowed to forget my previous allegiance.”

Varric turned to me with a look that said, _help me!_ I wasn't even sure why at first, until I remembered that I was Duty's Commander, not Varric. “Yes, as Varric said. You must not forget her.”

Duty being duty, that was that. I'd given a command, and he had to obey. “Y...yes, Ser.”

His words were to be expected, but his tone was...strange. He was both calling for help, and trying to hide his torment. _Must not let it interfere. Must obey._ Why was he conflicted?

“Duty?” He looked up at me again, attentive, but his pain was pulling me. He was trying desperately to hide it, but his efforts were futile. “What is wrong?”

I hadn't meant it as a command, but he took it as one. He was worried about her. Very worried. I saw his recent interactions with Brice now. He saw her father, the Marquis, storm out of the house, Brice screaming after him. Her lyrium withdrawal created a tantrum, and she commanded Duty to follow her father, and slay him if he spoke of their arrangement with the Carta. She ordered him to kill everyone who heard. And she ordered him to kill Varric and me, specifically, for fucking everything up. Her words, not mine.

And when Duty returned with news of what he'd done, the hysterics she showed before did not compare to what she had then. She was enraged at herself, but she lashed out at him for carrying out her orders. To his horror, and despite his pleading, she released him from her service, casting him from her sight.

But it didn't end there, and it was the reason for his anxiety now. She didn't just release him because of her father; she released him because of another, ongoing command she had given him long ago. A command to restrain her and her addiction; a command to stop her from making a foolish mistake. She knew that, with Duty gone, nothing could keep her from her coveted vice.

“The Gallows!” I turned to my confused companions, my voice expressing my urgency. “We have to get to the Gallows!”

* * *

“This is probably, without a doubt, my least favorite place in all of Kirkwall,” Varric grumbled. The boat lurched and we all grabbed the sides to steady ourselves, but it held firm. It was surprising to see the tiny ship capable of floating towards the looming Gallows on its own, even with the many sales sporting the relatively small vessel. Magic maybe? Or Varric was just that competent with the boat.

I squatted at the front of the ship, my eyes gazing over the intimidating fortress as we approached. The Gallows was once a prison for slaves during the days Kirkwall was controlled by the Imperium, a place filled with despair and broken spirits, even before the red lyrium took control.

Now the island itself was covered in so much red, it looked like an open, festering wound on the harbor. This was where Meredith, former Knight-Commander of Kirwall's Templars, was defeated by Hawke, Champion of Kirkwall. Wielding a sword of red lyrium, the blighted substance consumed her, transforming her into a red lyrium statue. It didn't contain itself within her, however, spreading across the entire island. The city, with the help of Cullen and the Inquisition, had made one attempt to remove all of the lyrium, but it was in vain.

Even from here I could hear the sickening song, one that permeated your being with feelings of fury and hate. It was the worst sounds, combined with the worst emotions ever felt. And it never stopped. The fact that the place was a prison was bad enough, but to have to endure that song... 

“Ugh, it's like when my classmates dragged their fingers across the blackboard at school.” Maryden had her hand on her head, trying to drive the sound out. Of course she could hear it, too; the cursed side of her gift. Thankfully, I don't think she was going to make a song like this real. Nobody would want to hear it.

Maryden sat in the back, the opposite end of the vessel from me. I couldn't help glancing back at her; I still had feelings for her, and I worried about her. She was part of the reason I didn't want to take Duty.

  
I was surprised she was still with us, but she had insisted on coming. Varric had suggested she stay at the docks for her own safety, but she refused. She was...curious. She had so many questions and hoped they would be answered here. I didn't know if that would happen or not, but I feared for her even as I was overjoyed to have her company still.

“I can't hear a damn thing,” Varric chimed in. “And thank the Maker for that. The thought of going into that cursed hell-hole is bad enough without getting bad songs stuck in my head.”

I saw her look up and meet my eyes, and I quickly faced forward towards the Gallows again. It was a futile gesture; she knew I had been looking at her. I didn't want her to see me, but she was surprisingly observant.

“Cole?” I glanced back at her again, with her permission this time. “Could you ask Duty to get in the boat? He's being very creepy.”

Duty was with us also, but floating alongside the boat over open water, keeping pace with us easily. I had ordered him to stay out of the boat for Maryden's sake, but apparently seeing the spirit do something only a spirit could possibly do just frightened her more.

The spirit looked at me and I nodded towards the boat. He obeyed my unspoken command without hesitation, “sitting” himself down just behind me. Maryden was still frightened, but it did make her feel a little better to see him acting a bit more human.

The song was growing louder and more irritating the closer we got. Duty could hear it, too, but he made no outward signs of distress. He couldn't hide his inward distress from me, though.

We hit the docks at the edge of the island, and Varric quickly tied the boat up so we could move ourselves onto solid ground again. I braced myself for the nauseating song and irritating red glow to be worse as we landed, but it still didn't prevent me from grunting as a wave of discomfort swept over us.

The red was everywhere, jutting out of the stone like cancerous fingers, threatening to reach out and crush us in its gasp. It was a struggle to keep from stepping on any as we walked in what was once a courtyard, guarded by a warped iron gate that now hung on its hinges. Despite the engulfing crystalline tumors scattered everywhere, we could still clearly see the source, a red lyrium “statue” of a humanoid corpse in the center; seemingly on its knees, screaming in agony. Meredith.

This wasn't the templar we were looking for, though, and it didn't take us long to find the right one. A large staircase lead up to the main prison, what was once the Circle of Magi in Kirkwall, and there at the top was Brice.

I felt her more than saw her. She was hunched over, her back to us and using her sword to keep herself from collapsing completely. Her body was inflicted with agony and rage, but I couldn't tell if it was from withdrawal or something far worse.

It was Duty who called out to her, in a hushed but resonating pitch, “Brice?”

She lifted her head at the sound of his familiar voice, using her sword like a cane to get to her feet. She remained hunched over when she turned to face us, and the source of her agony became obvious.

She was not in lyrium withdrawal. We could all see her templar kit, the tools and a vial scattered across the ground along with several small blocks of red lyrium. Her face glowed with floating red miasma, centered on her wide, blood-shot eyes. Her skin now had an unearthly flush that was not from blood or exertion.

I had hoped to stop her from taking the red, but we were too late.

“Duty.” Her voice had taken on a demonic, warped tone. “I don't believe I've ever heard you address me by my first name before.”

“You are no longer my Commander, Ser. I cannot address you as such.”

“You dare...” She gasped as a spasm overtook her. She stumbled, but held her footing; barely. “You murdered my father, and then you...dare join my enemy? _Traitor_!”

The spirit clenched his fists, turning a shade of red to match the lyrium around us. “I am not a traitor, Ser. I did as _you_ commanded.”

She glared at the spirit, but could not refute him, so she turned her spite to Varric and me instead. “You _dare_ steal my spirit from me? To replace me?” She smashed a nearby pillar of red lyrium, shattering it like thick glass. Several tiny shards struck her in her bare face, digging into her cheek and chin on one side, but she did not bleed. She didn't even seem to notice the red lyrium now embedded in her flesh.

We all braced ourselves, prepared for an attack. She stood before us, blood-red eyes glaring murderously at us. She took a threatening step towards us, but succumbed to the lyrium poisoning and collapsed to her knees. Only her sword kept her from falling to the ground completely.

“This is not what was supposed to happen,” she growled in defiance, despite the burning in her body. “The red is supposed to make me stronger. It was supposed to give me the strength to kill you . Why am I...”

“You'd think Meredith here would tell you otherwise,” Varric said, gesturing towards the corpse-like statue. “Nothing good ever comes from that blighted shit, Brice.”

Her sword gave out, and she fell to the ground with a thud. She curled up in a fetal position, her hands on her stomach. The lyrium was not fusing with her like it did with the Red Templars that lived. It was growing, feeding on her from the inside. It was killing her.

The realization struck Duty as well, and I saw him fade back to his normal green. He started to rush towards her, but stopped, turning back at me with a pleading look in his eyes. He wanted...needed my permission to go to her.

I didn't give it right away. She was still dangerous and might have hurt him, but not going would hurt him more.

“Go.”

He nodded and rushed to her side. She didn't seem to notice him as he approached and “knelt” down in front of her without a word. He just looked at her with his usual unreadable expression, but I sensed his aura of fear and sorrow, more powerful than even the red lyrium's sickening song.

She was still for a long time, and I started to wonder if she even knew he was there, until I saw her reach a hand towards him. I braced myself, my hand hovering over my blade, and I heard the tell-tale clicking sound of Bianca being readied. I could still sense anger, stemming from pain, coming from Brice, and I was prepared to stop her if she tried to hurt Duty.

She didn't. She could not touch him, but her hand moved against his jaw under the helmet, “caressing” him as though she could. Duty didn't respond to this, but continued to look down on her in pity. It was only after I sensed her malice melt away that I removed my hand from my dagger.

Even as Brice's fury faded, I felt Duty's fill up. “You are a fool, Brice! You know what the red does to Templars. You saw it yourself. Why would you do this?”

Brice gave a strained laugh. “I've never heard you scold me before.”

“I couldn't scold you before.”

She removed her hand from his “face” with a gasp, and she curled into a ball. Duty reached his hand out, trying to give her comfort, but all he could do was go through the motions. She couldn't see or feel what he was doing.

I wanted to go over there, to help, but it didn't feel right to interfere. I realized now just how close they were to each other. There was genuine love there. I wasn't sure if it was romantic, but there was no doubt they cared for each other. And yet, they could never touch. I understood now why the Marquis wanted to know how I got a human body.

I felt a presence just behind me, a familiar warmth mixed with the smell of lavender. Maryden was close to me, almost touching me, and I felt a tightening in my chest. I dared to side-eye her, and noticed that she wasn't looking at me. She was staring at the scene in front of us, and I could sense a cocktail of emotions from her. Fear, confusion, pity, compassion, sympathy. I wanted to reach my hand out to take hers, to give her some comfort, but I resisted the urge.

“Can you help her?” She spoke in a hushed tone that only I could hear. I dared to meet her eyes, now turned to me. Any animosity we had for Brice was gone now; she was just a woman in pain.

“Yes...maybe...I don't know...” I looked away from Maryden and back to the templar and her spirit. I couldn't save her, but maybe I could end her suffering.

I approached Brice, slowly. The templar made no move, but Duty looked up and instantly stiffened like a soldier. Even knowing I was once Compassion, his mind was filled with the dreaded idea that I would order him away, and he would have to do it. He didn't want to leave her side. Not yet.

I knelt in front of Brice, next to Duty. She saw me now, as well as the glint of the weapon I held in my hand.

“Is it mercy or revenge that makes you brandish a dagger against me, demon?” She was still trying to be defiant, even in obvious defeat.

“Mercy,” I said, lifting my blade to let her see it better. Part of me didn't want to do it. Killing is a very permanent solution, and I learned in a hard and terrible way that all other ways to help should be tried first. But we all knew there was no other way to help.

“Duty!” She reached out for him, and to the shock of us all, she grabbed and held his hand. I'm not sure if it was the lyrium coursing through her, her proximity to death, or just sheer will, but she was touching him! She held his hand for the first time!

The spirit was stunned, subdued. He didn't know at first how to react. I think he almost pulled away, but he resisted, submitting to her touch. It wasn't long before he wrapped his own fingers around hers.

“Duty, promise me you won't forget about me.”

It's a line I'd heard many times before. I always found it a strange request; without the help of a spirit, how would you forget someone anyway? Here, though, it did have significance.

“Ser?”

“I know you like to forget your old masters...” She grimaced, holding his hand tighter, but she gritted her teeth. “But I have no one left who knew me. Knew the _real_ me. Please don't forget me. I want at least some small part of me to live on.”

He stared down at her before turning his eyes to me, pleading. At first, I thought he was looking for permission to take her request, but I quickly realized that wasn't the case at all. He wanted me to say no, to _refuse_ her request.

“Please...”

I could feel her pain, the fear of a meaningless life. Of fading away into oblivion. Of being forgotten. I knew someone who had that fear once; a young man dying alone in a cold, dark dungeon. I had that fear once, myself, too. It drove me to do terrible things to prevent myself from falling into an endless pool of blackness I could never escape.

But what would this do to Duty? He was a _spirit_. They didn't know how to mourn, to grieve, to grow. Forgetting kept them pure. Forcing a spirit to retain a painful memory could corrupt or even destroy them. Brice didn't know this, but I did.

Or maybe I didn't. I was a spirit, too, just like Duty, and I had many bad memories; not all of them mine. I fell into that hole of despair and became a demon, but I also got out, and it made me stronger. Granted, I was also part human, even back then. Duty was not.

I didn't like having to choose to heal one hurt by bringing on another.

I let out a frustrated sigh and turned to Duty, prepared to give him permission, but I was too late. To my own surprise, and what seemed to be completely against his nature, he had made up his own mind.

“I promise, Brice. I'll remember.”


	14. Questioning Orders

The boat trip back was a dark and somber one. I ended Brice's pain, quickly and with mercy. Now her body, covered in a blood-stained blanket, lay in our boat as we headed back to the main land. Varric promised to make arrangements to have her burned on the same pier as her father. He would make no mention of her terrible mistakes.

Duty didn't speak after he had made his promise. His expression and body were as stiff and stoic as ever, but his mind was in turmoil. It went against his nature, as a spirit of duty, to make a decision like that without his commander's approval. Was he already becoming a demon?

“I wasn't going to order you to make that promise,” I whispered to him.

He didn't look at me, but his head turned ever so slightly in my direction, letting me know he heard. “I know, Ser. You did not have to. You are Compassion, and I did as was befitting Compassion. I helped her pain. To order me to do otherwise would be against your nature.”

I shook my head. “I'm not Compassion any longer. I'm human. I'm Cole. I can manage this. But you...” I let my words trail off.

“I can manage it, Ser. I will not become a demon.”

“I thought that, too,” I argued. “But I did. I hurt a lot of innocent people. I won't let you do the same.”

“I will not, Ser.” He lifted his head and met my gaze. He had a forcefulness in his eyes. “You think me weak because I obey. Be assured, Ser, that I am not weak. It takes strength and hard work to fulfill my purpose. I will not fall to corruption so easily.”

I don't think he understood. “If you hurt innocent people I will kill you, Duty.”

“I expect no less from you, Ser.”

Or maybe he did. I'm not Duty, I don't fully understand his purpose. He was more than willing to hurt people if commanded to do so, something I could never do. He also proved he was willing to make great sacrifices in order to fulfill his responsibilities.

Aveline's book said spirits of Duty rarely became demons. Maybe that is why.

“I could command you to forget her, and your promise to her.”

“Yes, Ser, you could, and I would then forsake my lesser allegiance for a greater one.”

He went back to staring in front of the boat. I didn't have to read his mind to realize he didn't want me to make that command, even if it was to forget that he had done so. It hurt, but he wanted to remember.

I had cause to be concerned, though. Despite his reassurance, he was suffering, and spirits couldn't handle pain like humans could. I would keep my eye on him.

We reached the docks without incident, and headed back to the Hanged Man. Aveline was already there, worried sick about us, and ready to give Varric a serious scolding. Then she saw Duty, and her planned scolding became a bit more violent. No patrons or spirits were harmed by her protests, though three mugs, two bar stools, and a table didn't make it out so well. None of the other patrons saw Duty, so they assumed the Guard-Captain was just trying to arrest us.

“You should have taken me with you, Varric.” Now that we were safely back in Varric's room, we had a chance to give her the details of what happened with Duty and Brice. “Brice was the Knight-Captain at Dairsmuid when it was annulled. She's not an easy opponent.”

“I suppose it's lucky for us red lyrium didn't agree with her,” Varric boasted.

I small, almost inaudible whimper was made behind me. I didn't have to look to know who it was, but everyone else did.

“Oh, Maker,” Aveline gave a frustrated growl. “I'm not going to attack you again, spirit, calm yourself.”

I shook my head. “That's not why he made that sound.”

Duty said nothing. He showed no emotion, as usual, but everyone knew the sound escaped from him.

Varric shifted uncomfortably, “Oh...um...sorry, Duty...didn't mean to...eh...”

“I am fine, Ser.”

It was a lie, one meant to put our minds at ease. He couldn't let his personal feelings get in the way of his obligations.

Varric broke the silence. “It's a shame you weren't with us, Aveline. We probably would have let you have the spirit.”

From the look she gave him, you'd think he suggested she strip naked and perform a dance for the Maker. “You can't be serious. What could I possibly do with a...spirit?”

“He can read minds, move through walls, manipulate people's thoughts, and he's one of the few here that can annoy Cole.”

To everyone's surprise, it was Duty who protested. “With all due respect, Ser, I would prefer not to have her as my commander.”

It also changed Aveline's tone. “Pardon?”

There was a slight anger in his voice that worried me. “I am Duty. I do not take orders from traitors.”

Now Aveline was getting scary. “You dare question my loyalty, spirit?”

“I know how you became Guard-Captain of Kirkwall. I saw it in your thoughts. You betrayed your commander, deliberately disobeyed his orders, then took his command when your actions disgraced him.”

I thought Aveline was scary before, but now she was full-blown terrifying. There was a fire behind her green eyes that made all of us take a step back for our own safety. Duty stood strong, but I saw fear behind his stance as well.

“I will not stand here and let anyone question my loyalty, even a spirit of duty.” The spirit was slightly taller than her, but she seemed like a giant as she stood before him. “I did not betray the Guard-Captain, he betrayed us. He put his men in danger in a selfish attempt to pay off his personal debts to thieves and murderers. My _duty_ called for me to stop him, and I did.”

Duty tried his best to stand up to her, but there was a crack in his voice. “But he was your...”

“Captain? He ceased to be my Captain the moment he betrayed the men and women he swore to protect. My loyalty never was, and never will be, to one man. My loyalty is always with this city and my fellow guardsman. Only a fool would believe that _duty_ is about never questioning your orders.”

Duty's “body” shook, visibly upset. “I'm not a fool, Ser.”

“My fellow guardsman are alive thanks to my actions. The De'Voirs, your former commanders, are dead. The Marquis by your direct hand. All because you never questioned the orders of a Templar delirious from lyrium withdrawal. Don't you dare tell me I don't understand _duty_ , spirit. Your precious Brice would be alive if not for you.”

I saw Duty's resolve crumble right then. He went from a proud soldier to a small child, slumping against the wall behind him and turning away from Aveline.

“Whoa, whoa, Aveline, I think that's enough.” Varric stepped in, placing a careful hand between them. “I think you've made your point.”

She backed off, picking up her sword and shield from the doorway. “I have things I need to attend to. Call me if you need me.”

She slammed the door behind her, and the room was engulfed in silence again. Or, at least, silence to any who could not hear a spirit's anguish. I saw him collapse to the ground, and I rushed to his side, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. My touch startled him and he looked up at me with horrified eyes.

“She's wrong,” he needed comfort, but one born of strength, not coddling. “It wasn't your fault.”

“I could have stopped this, Ser!” He turned away from me again, preferring the view of the wall over my concerned face. “I knew she was not in her right mind. I knew the order was wrong...I should have.”

“You are duty, loyalty, allegiance,” I tightened my grip on his shoulder, careful not to cause him pain. “You couldn't have known what would happen.”

“I...I _did_ question it, Ser. When she gave the order I...I knew it was wrong, but I did it anyway, because I thought I had to.”

That sounded disturbingly familiar, and he caught on to my thoughts as well. “I _was_ a demon, wasn't I? When I killed the Marquis. When I tried to kill you. I thought I had to do it to prevent myself from becoming one, but by doing it, I...”

“Maybe,” I had to concede. How do I comfort him from this? “No, it doesn't work that way. You fulfilled your purpose as you understood it. You didn't know.”

“I am Duty, Ser. I should know!”

“I was Compassion, and I didn't know.” I confessed to him. I became keenly aware of the others in the room, Varric. Maryden. Not that it mattered now. “I was a demon once, too. I killed mages, innocent mages, because I thought I had to. They were hurting, and their pain called to me, and I went to them. I ended their pain by taking their lives.

“I was wrong, Ser! I know that now, and I will never do it again. You were wrong, you know that now...” I grabbed his head, forcing him to look at me. “And you will never do it again.”

He stared back at me, and for the first time I noticed his eyes were no longer disembodied. No longer glowing. They were detailed, developed, defined. They looked _real_. And those very real eyes, for the first time in his entire existence, welled up with tears.

* * *

 

Duty's eyes were not the only transformation I noticed over the next few days. It hadn't occurred to me then, but when Aveline had backed him up against the the wall, it wasn't just for show. She had done so literally. He was now solid enough to be able to touch things. He no longer had the ability to move through walls and floors.

The changes both excited and worried me. Was he becoming more real?

The Marquis wondered how I became human, but I honestly didn't know. I don't remember. I thought I was human for a long time until it was proven I wasn't. I don't know how it works. So I didn't know if Duty was doing the same...or if I was watching him transform into something more sinister.

He had not lost his ability to be invisible to those around him so that made it easier to keep him around without sending people into a panic. Turns, out, however, I was worried about the wrong souls becoming panicked.

It happened while I was helping a little elf boy whose father had just been killed in a building accident. While consoling the boy, whose grief was so strong, I didn't immediately notice Duty's empathetic grief. Not until I turned to find the spirit had vanished.

Once I knew the boy would be okay, I went searching for him. I tried to keep him with me at all times, just to keep an eye on him. If he became dangerous, I needed to be there to stop him. He'd never left my side before, and I wasn't sure why he chose to now.

I could sense his grief. It was similar to the boy's, which was why I didn't notice it before. I knew instantly that was why he had fled; the boy's loss reminded Duty of his own, and he'd finally succumbed to grief.

I found him in Lowtown, next to one of the many canals that ran through there. He sat by the edge of the filthy water, knees to his chest, head clutched in his hands. I watched him wipe his eyes of tears as I slowly approached. He knew I was there, but made no move to acknowledge me until my shadow cast over him.

“I'm sorry, Ser,” he responded in a shuddered whisper. “I...couldn't stay.”

“I know.” I sat down next to him, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. He flinched, initially. He still wasn't accustomed to touch – even mine – but even the simplest contact was calming. It made him feel real.

His body relaxed, his hands falling to the pavement. “I'm still not used to this.”

“It's hard,” I assured him. “But you will heal. You are strong.”

“I try not to be afraid. Or angry. Or hopeless. But sometimes I don't know how I am supposed to feel, Ser.”

“You have to decide that yourself.”

“I prefer it when others tell me, Ser.”

“I can't tell you how to feel.”

“Of course, Ser. My apologies.”

He lifted his hand to his face, studying it as though seeing it for the first time. He still looked very much like a spirit, with his transparent, green shape, but each time I saw him he seemed more defined, his form more precise. The fingers were no longer smooth, but had noticeable knuckles and creases. His feet and body were solidly on the ground, actually _touching_ the concrete, not just floating slightly above it. Even his armor had finer detail...and now looked like the guard armor of Kirkwall, rather than a generic suit of plate. It seems Aveline's outburst did have an influence on him after all.

“Are you trying to become human?” I asked him, both out of concern and curiosity.

“I...sort of, Ser,” he turned his hand back and forth as he stared. “A gift from Brice, I think. She wanted me to be more human, to be more real. Ever since she...touched me back there I've felt different. I think she gave me something. I'm not sure what, Ser. I'm not sure she knew, but it was all she had left to give me before...she...”

He trailed off, choking out a sob before hugging his hand to his body. I knew better than to press him.

“Would you,” he stopped, taking a hesitant breath before continuing. “Would you like me to stop this, Ser?”

I shook my head. “No. I like being human; I think you would like it, too.”

“Then are you ordering me to change, Ser?”

“No.”

He sighed in disappointment. I was still reluctant to give him orders, and he found it mildly frustrating. I didn't want to command him to become human; it's a decision he should make for himself. Granted, I tend to forget that he is duty, and being commanded is the reason for his existence.

He went back to staring at his hand, caressing and exploring it with the opposite. “There is a piece of Brice inside of me now, Ser. I can feel it, but I cannot isolate it. She is with me, all of me, yet she is gone. I don't understand it.”

I wasn't sure if he was being figurative or literal. Maybe both.

“Dairsmuid's Circle was...not like most Circles,” he continued, and I listened patiently. “They had a central building with that name, but the mages were not confined. They could come and go as they pleased, and would spend most of their time with their families. I was summoned as a simple messenger, forbidden from taking a body because it made it easier and faster for me to travel where I needed to be, and without notice.

“I delivered messages between my former master and...,” he paused for a moment, swallowing down the grief before continuing, “Brice. She didn't like me at first, but she soon looked forward to seeing me. She liked the messages.”

I didn't need to ask him what the messages were; he failed to block them from his mind. I can say they didn't involve official Chantry business...

I suddenly saw Duty reach up to his head, slowly, grasping it on either side. At first, I thought he was just holding his head because of the hurt, but then he slowly lifted it. I think I shuddered at the thought of him actually _removing_ his head. It's something a spirit is capable of doing but it was still unsettling to see.

Then I realized he wasn't removing his head, he was removing that ever-present helmet.

He slowly took it off like anyone would. Thick, neatly twisted lochs spilled out as it came off, and I saw his face for the first time. He didn't look like Brice at all, and I'm not sure why I was expecting him to. Instead he looked like a handsome Rivaini man, like Ser Barris, one I didn't recognize.

“The man was in Brice's thoughts a lot, Ser,” he answered my unasked question as he placed the helmet in his lap, where it promptly vanished. “I do not know who he is, but she thought of him when she saw me. I think he may have been the man who summoned me, but I don't know.”

Made sense, but we may never know.

“I have no memory of him myself, Ser, but I could take his shape if I tried.”

“Is that what you want to do?” I asked him, my voice barely a whisper. It was strange seeing him like this, seeing him looking more human than ever.

Duty hesitated, pursing his full lips in thought. I could tell he still wasn't accustomed to people asking him what he wanted. “I...I believe I do, Ser.”

 

* * *

 

There were always plenty of people here in Kirkwall who needed my help. I was able to help a young girl rescue her cat from another canal, I gave some medicine to a young man whose sister had fallen ill, and I helped a dying, homeless man into the cool shade of a tree where he could pass in comfort. I wished I could do more, but even the little things helped. Duty helped where he could as well, but he still held the appearance of a green ghost, so it was minimal.

I was drawn again when I got to the Hanged Man. It was midday, so only a few patrons were in the bar, but someone in the back needed my help. I knew who it was, and that should have made me hesitate. It should have made me ignore it and move on to someone else.

It didn't, not until I found myself standing, dumbfounded, right outside Maryden's door.

I could sense she was inside, and I could sense her pain. It had something to do with me, but I couldn't tell what was mine and what was hers. They all jumbled together like tangled pieces of yarn, and I couldn't separate them.

And then it hit me like the bolt of a lightning spell...I knew someone who could!

“Ser?” Duty was beside me and had instantly sensed my attention to him.

It was something I'd wanted since Maryden had found out the truth about me, but was always out of reach. But I had a spirit now, one that obeyed me. I didn't have to do it myself, I just had to ask Duty...

“You can still affect minds, can't you?” I asked him, a little too eagerly.

“Yes, Ser,” he answered. “I'm not as human as you. Not yet.”

“Can you still make people forget?”

“Yes, Ser. I am duty-bound to remember Brice, but I can make others forget.”

I found myself reaching for the handle of her door. She was awake, and she would know it was me, but not for too long. I could make it happen in a heartbeat, make her forget everything, and then have Duty make me forget as well. Then we could leave Kirkwall, never speak of it again. It would only take a moment and all our pain, mine and hers, would be gone forev...

“Still pining for her, Kid?”

I let out an involuntary yelp and jumped back. I was so caught up my thoughts I didn't see Varric approach me from behind.

He gave a soft chuckle at my reaction. “Didn't mean to startle you.”

He turned his attention to Duty, his eyebrow raising slightly at the sight of him. “New look, Lackey?”

“Yes, Ser.” His voice was as emotionless as ever.

“Look's good!”

“Thank you, Ser.”

He looked at me, then at Duty, then back at me again. His mirthful smile turned into a frown, and I saw his eye twitch slightly. Varric was smart, and he instantly knew what I had been planning. He was not happy with it. “Come on, Kid, let's go have a drink.”

“No,” he was going to try and talk me out of it, but I couldn't let him! “I have something I need to do first.”

“Come on, it'll be good for you. You can bring Lackey along as well.”

He wasn't going to take no for an answer. “Oh...alright.”

I expected Varric to get right to scolding me the moment we sat down and he poured the cheap ale, but he had something else he wanted to talk about first.

“I just wanted to let you know, Kid, that I've been called to the Viscount's office, again. They insist on a ceremony before making my promotion to 'Chief Planner' official.” He took a long, loud swig of the gross ale, before slamming the mug down with a loud sigh and a louder belch. “I hate this courtly shit.”

We were expecting this for some time. “Do you want me to come along?”

He waved the thought away with his hand. “Nah, you'll be bored to tears, trust me. Drink?”

“No, thank you. I don't feel like drinking.”

He nodded, unsurprising. He knew I'd refuse, and had only offered out of obligation to be polite. “So, you wanna tell me why you're stalking everyone's favorite minstrel?”

“I wasn't stalking her!” Sometimes Varric's choice of words is really bad. “I just wanted to talk to her. I think I know how I can help her...and me.”

“Really?” He gave a quick glance to Duty, who was standing at attention beside me, before turning his full attention back to me. “And just how do you intend to do that?”

He knew the answer, and he knew that I knew that he knew the answer. I explained it anyway. “Before now, there was nothing I could do to ease our suffering. I'm too human, too real. But now I have a spirit. I have Duty.” I gestured towards him. “He has all the abilities I don't have anymore. So maybe...now I can...”

Varric sat there quietly for an agonizingly long time. I watched him lean back in his chair, his eyes boring into me as though he could read _my_ thoughts. It made me squirm in my seat.

He still hadn't said anything, but he didn't have to. He didn't approve because he didn't understand! That made me angry. “She's hurting. I'm hurting. We're both hurting. Duty can make us both forget and then...”

“Haven't you learned anything, Kid?”

“Yes.” That's a silly question. Of course I have!

“Just because something hurts, doesn't mean you should just forget about it. You have to learn from it.”

“She's pulling me again,” I was pleading with him. I needed him to understand! “It only pulls when I can help. It's because I have Duty now. I just have to ask Duty to...”

“Kid, Kid, Kid...” Varric rubbed his eyes. “You're human now. You can't just make things go away like that.”

“I couldn't before. I can now.”

“If you want to help her, Kid, you'll let her work this out on her own. You don't have to give up on her just yet.”

“She's given up on me!” I lowered my head pitifully, letting my head hide the hurt in my eyes. “I made a mistake, but I can still fix it. I could make it all go away, make it so we never were, and then...”

It was then that I realized, I didn't need Varric's permission. I was my own person! He didn't command me. I set my jaw, lifting my head to look Varric straight in the eye as I got out of my seat. “I'm going to do it! I know you don't want me to, and I wish you did, but this is for the best and...

Varric raised a hand in the air and I stopped. He stared at me so intently, like he was trying to say something with his mind, but no thoughts came my way. Finally, with a gruff sigh, he took another gulp of his ale, slamming the mug onto the table dramatically. “Sit down, Kid, before you do something profoundly stupid.”

This made me bristle with anger. “It's not stupid! I just want to help...”

“She hasn't given up on you, Kid.”

That stopped me, and my anger melted away. “I...but she...”

“Didn't actually break off your relationship, did she?”

Yes she did! Didn't she? Wait...did she?

“You had me convinced when we spoke that night that she had ended it, but I've spoken to her and she doesn't see it that way. She's stressed because...” he paused, rubbing the back of his neck as he tried to figure out how to put it to words. “She's wrong, she knows she's wrong, but she needs to figure out _how_ she's wrong.”

I must have been giving him a very confused look, as he gave another exasperated sigh before taking another swig of his nasty ale. “Clearly, you don't fit into this nice little monstrous mold that the Chantry stuffs all Fade creatures into. Which means either the mold is wrong, or you are. She's trying to figure out which one it is.”

“It's the mold!” I blurted out.

“I know that, and you know that, but _she_ didn't know that. You could help her along, but she has to figure that out for herself.”

“Me?” Realization filling my soul the way light fills a dark room. “You mean I _can_ help?”

Varric didn't answer right away. He was trying to decide if he'd really said the right thing or just made a terrible mistake. “Yeah...I think you can. I think the real reason she's pulling you now is because she's ready to listen to you. I think you should go talk to her, but be careful. You could just make things worse.”

“I will!” I rushed over and gave Varric a strong hug, who only grunted and patted me on the shoulder in response. I had felt so helpless, powerless, but now...now I knew I could do something. There was hope.

“Don't make me regret telling you, Kid.”

* * *

 

It's always smart to leave your door locked at the Hanged Man. Too many desperate people to leave your safety to chance. Maryden was smart, she always locked her door to keep the criminals out. Not that it stopped me from getting in, but it kept the bad guys out.

I slowly entered her room, making sure not to make any noise. This was actually the first time I'd been in her room at the Hanged Man, a realization that surprised me. We'd always met in my room before, not hers. It was a slightly nicer room than my own, though she had decorated the room with some simple art work, frilly curtains, and she covered the moldy smell with the smokey-sweet fragrance of incense. It was more cluttered than mine, though, with books and papers scattered everywhere.

Her bed was a jumble of sheets of both the paper and cloth kind, and her blankets were kicked to the floor. She wasn't in the bed, though. It didn't take much searching to find her sitting at her desk in the opposite corner, a large book open in front of her, and her head laying in the cradle of her arms. She had fallen asleep reading.

The papers mostly consisted of musical sheets and poetry, but the books scattered about were the most interesting. I picked up several, looking at the covers and opening them up. Every single one was a book about spirits, demons, and the Fade. Based on the sheer number of books, she was doing a lot of reading.

Something else caught my eye near her desk, and I practically ran towards it. It was my hat...well, the hat Maryden gave me before. It had been ripped and ruined when I last saw it, but it wasn't anymore. There was a new ribbon of gold sewn into the front where the Carta dagger had sliced it, and the crushed flowers were now replaced with silk ones. It was cleaned and repaired and looked new.

She repaired my hat! Or had someone else do it more likely, since I don't think she can sew, but I knew then that Varric was right. She hadn't given up on me.

Now it was time to prove I hadn't given up on her, either.


	15. Like a Song

Even as a human, I still had the ability to enter the Fade simply by falling asleep. I could shape and manipulate my own dreams as easily as a mage, but entering and manipulating someone else's dream was much harder now.

Having Maryden there, asleep and dreaming, gave me an opportunity I wouldn't have if she was awake. I had to sleep very close to her, which meant pulling up a chair and laying my head on the other side of the desk she sat in, and even then I was grateful for Duty's help in bringing us together so we could be in the same dream; the same part of the Fade.

Duty latched onto and drew out the very memory we needed, and now I could just watch and observe until she chose to see me. It had to be her choice, this dream was still _hers_ , still Maryden's. She had the ultimate control over it, even if she didn't know it. I had only been there for a short time, but Haven looked exactly as I remembered it. The Chantry building stood tall and majestic in the center with several buildings around it. The tents were noticeably missing, and in the distance I saw a huge ancient edifice which I can only assume was the Temple of Sacred Ashes. This was Haven before the Breach.

I heard music coming from the Singing Maiden, the inn at Haven. Even though it wasn't Maryden's – it sounded like a bard from Starkhaven playing the pipes – that didn't mean she wasn't inside.

The tavern was very busy, with faceless, vague figures drinking, laughing, and wandering about. This was the Fade, a dream, and nothing was real, so the details were obscured and distorted by memory. I couldn't even see the source of the music. The one section that was clear was a table towards the back with four occupants, three of which I recognized right away.

Maryden sat at the table, holding a handful of cards. The round-faced, brown-haired barkeep, Flissa, sat with her as well, giggling as usual. Varric was also easy to recognize.

The third was a Qunari woman I'd never seen before. She had dark, rough skin the color of burnished bronze, curled dragon-horns, a square, strong face, and lavender eyes. She dressed in mismatched but sturdy plate armor with a large, well-used sword strapped to her back.

_Nadisk_! I'd seen her in Maryden's memories of Haven, but here she was now.

“Angel of Death, time to show your cards, Ladies,” Varric said with a chuckle, putting his hand down on the table. “For me, I have Knights of Ages, Roses, and Wisdom, with a lovely Angel of Charity to round it out. How about you?”

Nadisk snorted in disgust, throwing her hand on the table without showing anyone. Flissa gave a loud sigh, putting down a hand with no matches at all.

Maryden's hand was also a mismatch: an Angel of Charity, Knight of Dawn, Serpent of Avarice, and Song of Mercy. It was not a winning hand, but she stared at it in confusion. It was not the hand she had on this night, and part of her realized this. Memories are imperfect and dreams rarely reflect what really happened, so this was not unusual. Nor was her realization that this was different.

“I guess I win again,” Varric said with a chuckle, reaching forward to take the small pile of coins from the center.

“I think I'm out, love.” Flissa said with a giggle. “Ya'think I'd know betta than to try and beat you, Masta Tethris.”

“Many have tried, few succeed.” He took a quick glance out the window before downing the last of his ale. “I'll take my leave now.”

One of the barmaids called out a goodbye as he stood from the table, grabbing Bianca as he marched towards the door.

“Filthy cheater,” the Qunari growled under her breath.

Maryden put her strange hand down and smiled at her. “He probably bamboozled both of us, but deceit is anticipated here.”

“It makes no sense to have a game where you are _supposed_ to cheat!”

“To bluff and con your foe is half the game.”

“Half the game is shit.”

She gave another snort, but there was a sense of affection in this one. Maryden pulled the taller woman down to give her a gentle and loving kiss. “No need to fret, my Fire. T'is but a game.”

The gesture noticeably calmed Nadisk, who gave her lover an approving smile.

Their tender moment did not last. A loud explosion of green light that shook the entire inn interrupted everything, sending the tavern into chaos. The sound was enough to knock Maryden to the floor, the cards on the table scattering.

“Shit, Mary! You alright?”

A strong arm lifted her to her feet in one swift motion. People were screaming, fleeing from the tavern, or hiding where they could. No one could figure out what was going on.

She ran towards the window, not even registering that the patrons stepped aside to allow her view. There she saw it, a mushroom cloud of green light where the Temple once stood, swirling like a whirlpool in the sky. It spewed green light outwards like a fountain, striking the ground randomly, and from there demons sprang from the ground to terrorize the people of Haven.

One such stream of light struck a nearby hut, smashing it to pieces before several deformed monstrosities emerged from it.

“ _Vashedan._ ” Nadisk cursed under her breath. “We have to get out of here before one of those things destroys this tavern.”

We were outside the tavern now, running away from the Breach. Nadisk's sword was now in her hand, the other holding Maryden's as though she were a child. I wasn't running, but I kept up with the scene none the less. I use to think nothing of the spacey way the Fade worked, but now its disjointed feel was very strange to me.

One moment Maryden and Nadisk were running together, and the next Nadisk was gone. Even in her dazed and drowsy dream-state, Maryden noticed something amiss. “Nadisk?” Her voice was a whisper, but she may as well have shouted. Everything had gone quiet all of a sudden. People were still running, demons were still falling from the sky, and the Breach was still plainly visible, but there was no noise. No screaming, no roaring, no crackling fires. Just eerie silence.

She tried again, “Nadisk!” Still nothing. The truth slowly sank in, and a cold wind swept through Haven, causing her to shiver. There was now more snow, more ice, and the cold feel of despair mixed in with the terror. She knew what was coming.

A body lay on the ground in front of her. She didn't want to see it, didn't want to go to it, but she was pulled to it. Blood, so much blood that it filled everything, turning the Fade red. A wool blanket lay over the body; soaked, hot, wet, sticky, the memory of a coppery smell filled the air. Even with the covering, she could see the body was not whole, and that the head had two curled dragon-horns poking out.

A guard appeared out of nowhere and grabbed Maryden's arm. “Messere, you can't be here. Head back to the camps where you will be safe.”

“Nadisk...” It was all she could say, her mind numb from mixed emotions. She tried to approach the body again, but she couldn't move.

“ _Messere_...” The guard's voice took on a deeper, darker, sinister tone, and she realized too late it wasn't a guard anymore. And it still had a hold of her arm.

I had meant to stay away, to simply watch until she chose to see me. This was a dream, the Fade, and in the back of my mind I knew this wasn't real. She wasn't in any _real_ danger. But hearing her scream, seeing the demon open its impossibly large, fanged maw as though to devour her, I couldn't stop myself. I sprang forward, daggers in hand that were not there before, and embedded them in the creature's throat. It let out a horrifying scream of agony, releasing its prize as it staggered back, clutching its bloody neck.

I considered pressing my attack, but I waited instead. It let her go, and that was all I had wanted. There was no further attack; the beast merely faded away. Which means Maryden was no longer paying attention to it...

“Cole?”

Her attention was on me.

“Cole! Oh thank the Maker!” I had barely turned to face her before she was on her feet and throwing her arms around me in a crushing hug. Even knowing none of this was real, I hugged her back. It felt so good to hold her again. I swore I could feel her warmth, smell the lavender in her hair. It was all in my head, I knew. She wasn't really here, just like I wasn't. But at that moment, I didn't care.

She also didn't stop with the hug. I didn't even have time to comprehend the change before I was pulled into a deep, passionate kiss. I returned it with the same passion and enthusiasm, knowing it was important I follow her dream as she dictated it. That and I really, _really_ wanted to kiss her

She broke the kiss, holding my shoulders tightly. “Cole, the Herald! Is he here? He needs to close the Breach!”

She was still in the dream, still unaware that none of this was real. “He already did. The Breach is gone.”

“What?” Sure enough, the sky was scarred but calm the moment she looked. Not only that, but Haven was now Skyhold, and we were standing in the courtyard, just in front of the Herald's Rest tavern. “Oh!”

“You don't have to be afraid anymore,” I said, my voice as soothing as I could make it, absently stroking her hair with my free hand. “The demons are gone.”

She didn't believe me. I felt her stiffen and she backed away from me abruptly, staring at me in terror. At first I wasn't sure why, then I felt the nag at the back of my mind. She remembered, in that moment, what I once was.

She controlled this dream, and her fear was demanding I transform into the demon she saw in her mind. If I was still a spirit, a creature of the Fade, I would have complied and become a monster; validating her fear. But I'm not a demon, not anymore. She can control and shape this dream, but she can't shape _me_.

It took only a moment for her to realize something was amiss. Everything else here obeyed her unintentional, subconscious commands, but I did not.

“But you're...” Skyhold became fuzzy, warbled as her grip on the illusion began to fade. “You're a demon.”

I shook my head. Her words stung like a jar of bees, but I kept myself calm. “No. I'm not a demon. Not anymore.”

I saw anger flash in her eyes, “Consider your lies, in light of what's real, I...I could...”

I felt another prickle on my neck, another command, but I ignored it. It was enough; for her anger to melt away again, and for her to realize I wasn't going to change. Her eyes started to focus; she was becoming aware. Good!

“You're...not a demon?”

“No.”

“But...the Breach...”

“Is gone now. You don't have to be afraid anymore.”

Skyhold seemed to fade away faster than she had conjured it. It was just her and me now, in a vast field of emptiness. She wasn't paying attention to that, though. She was staring at me.

“They killed Nadisk...”

“Corypheus killed her. He's dead now.”

“The demons...”

“Were pulled from the Fade against their will. They were confused, angry, frightened. The spirits were the weapon, not the slayer.”

She looked away, her brow wrinkled in confusion. This might be too much for a dreamer to take in, but I hoped at least some of it stuck.

“You don't have to be afraid anymore, Maryden. The spirits won't hurt you anymore. I won't hurt you.”

She looked around at her empty environment, as puzzled as always. “Am...I...dreaming?”

“Yes.” I closed the distance between us again. I wanted to reach out and touch her the moment I was close enough, but I refrained. “This isn't real.”

“You're not real?” She looked around, noticing the vast emptiness now.

“I am real. I'm here with you.” I did reach out and touch her this time, caressing her cheek. She didn't resist. “And I need you to _wake up._ ”

*****

I was kicked from the Fade as her dream ended. It took a moment to recover from the dazed feeling, to remember where I was. My head was on her desk, opposite her. My neck was stiff and sore from lying on the hard surface, and I rubbed it as I sat up.

I heard a sigh from across the desk and saw Maryden also get up, rubbing her eyes as she did so. I wondered if the book was more comfortable than the wooden desk, but I don't know if that mattered. I woke up faster than she did, so I waited patiently for her to notice me.

“Cole?” She said groggily as she looked at me. “What are you doing in my room?”

“I...” I'd hoped for, waited for this moment for so long, but I didn't know what to say to her. My hands fidgeted and I could only stare at them, hoping the words would come to me. I think they fled to Tevinter.

She wasn't mad at me, thankfully. Actually, based on how she was staring at the book she'd fallen asleep on, I think she was as nervous as I was.

She pulled a handkerchief from her desk and began wiping at the book gently. “Aveline's going to kill me,” she whispered sheepishly. “I think I drooled all over her book.”

The comment made me smile. “Aveline's book? Is that the one you took from Varric's room?”

She nodded, still speaking in a hushed voice. “It's a lot better than the others.” She gestured towards all the books scattered about the room. “This one was written by a Lady Annamaria of Rivain. A refreshing read. I was getting tired of reading books about monsters from beyond.”

I looked down at the book again. She had been covering it with her sleeping body before, so I hadn't noticed the passage she was reading when I came in. One page was completely filled with beautiful calligraphy, but it was the full-page picture on the opposite page that really caught my eye. It showed a wise woman of Rivain, holding her hand out to an injured man. Behind the seer was a white, transparent spirit, holding out its “hand” in a similar gesture.

The artist had created a rendition of a seer, possessed by a spirit, healing a wounded soldier. Maryden was in the “Cs,” and was reading about Spirits of Compassion.

“Was that you? Really you? In my dream?”

Her words pulled me from the book and back to the present. “Yes.”

“Is that...” She wanted to ask me if that was typical of spirits, before remembering that dreams are what spirits do. She was still a little groggy. “You can still do that? Now that you are human?”

I nodded. “It's harder. If you were a mage it would be easier, but you're not, so I have to be close to you to do it. Duty helped.”

I looked around for the spirit, but he wasn't here. Strange, I didn't remember dismissing him...

“Haven...” I looked back at her, watching her rub the sleep from her eyes. “I wish I could forget sometimes.”

“It's better if you don't. You learn that way.” I sounded like Varric.

“Maybe...can you still make people forget?”

“No, not anymore.”

She caressed the book again, thoughtfully. “I read that many spirits can make themselves and others forget things. It made me wonder what all you can do.”

I took a breath before I answered. I had to be careful with my words. I didn't want her to be frightened of me again. “I can still read people; thoughts in their heads call to me, pull me to help. I can only hear if it hurts or if it tells me a way to help the hurts.”

“That explains a lot.” She was still looking at the book, not me, but she wasn't afraid or angry. That was something. “Varric told me a little bit about you. He said you're unique, that you somehow became human when you tried to save a boy from starving.”

“Yes.” I didn't say more. Even now, the memory of the real Cole still hurt.

“You really don't know how you did it?”

“No.”

“You didn't just possess him or...”

“He died.” I could hear the choke in my voice at the memory, as much as I tried to resist it. I knew she heard it, too. “I'm not possessing anyone. My body is just like his, but it's mine.”

She stood from the desk, walking around it to where I was. I stayed seated, but I never took my eyes from her. I knew what she was about to do, and I'm not sure why it made me so nervous.

She knelt down in front of me, so our eyes would be on the same level. I could feel her closeness, the smell of her made me crazy with desire, but I didn't move. I just met her gaze with my own. She reached out and touched my cheek, gently, and with only the tips of her fingers. It tickled, but I resisted the urge to withdraw or laugh. She could feel me shiver under her touch.

She'd touched me before, far more intimately than this, but she caressed me now as though for the first time. She ran her fingers down my jaw, to my chin, across my lips and back to my cheek. She pressed her palm against my face and ran it down to my neck. Her thumb flicked across my Adams-apple, and I gulped involuntarily. Her index finger and middle finger took a hold of some of my hair, twisting it around, tugging it a little, but not painfully.

I kept my eyes fixated on her as she explored. I lied about the intimacy; something about her touch now was deeper than the sex we had before. She was seeing the real me for the first time, the me I had kept from her out of fear. I was so afraid she wouldn't accept me. I still wasn't sure, and neither was she, but she wanted to.

“I would never have known...” She whispered, her eyes following her touch. She had moved to the back of my neck now, her fingers intertwined with my hair. That is where it stopped, and she finally met my eyes with her own. “You are so real.”

“Yes,” I agreed in a similar whisper. “I'm human now.”

“I suppose you are.”

For a brief moment, I thought she was going to pull me in for a kiss. Her hand positioned behind my neck would have made it easy for her, and I wanted to encourage it. It had been a long time since I'd really kissed her.

She didn't though. She released me, standing up so suddenly I thought she'd vanished on me.

“I have something for you!”

I thought she was going to show me the hat, but she passed right by it, heading straight for the musical sheets scattered across her floor. She tripped over several books, spouting curses that weren't really curses, before sifting through the musical papers. She crumpled up several, throwing them towards the trash bin by her desk – missing it completely – before she finally found the one she wanted.

“I've rewritten this bit so many times I tend to forget how it was supposed to go.”

I only got a glimpse of the sheet music before she set it down on a makeshift stand on her desk. It was her “Companions” Song, the one she wrote about the Inquisitor's friends. And there was a new verse.

She picked up her lute and tuned it nervously, making sure the strings were just so tight, the tune perfect, before swallowing down her nervous breath. “I hope you like it.”

Saved from Envy's painful embrace.

The boy who's mem'ry leaves no trace.

Fade born, man-made, he dreams and wakes.

Cole's spirit soul he does forsake.

She didn't sing the other verses, just that one, and silence filled the room when she finished. I wasn't sure what to say. I loved it. I was frightened of it. Did she really write a verse just for me?

“It's a rough draft,” she said nervously, unable to comprehend my reaction. “I can rewrite it again. I'm not sure if mentioning the Fade was such a good idea. Or you being a spirit. I called you a demon in some renditions, when I was really mad at you. Sorry about that. I wanted to write something about you being a mage, except you're not a mage, and...”

“Thank you.”

She took a much needed breath, calming herself from her ramblings. I gave her a smile, and she returned it in kind.

“I don't think I'll be singing this in the taverns, unless I change it. Not a good idea to announce what you were to everyone.”

I chuckled softly. “No, they wouldn't understand.”

She visibly relaxed as she put her lute to the side. “I certainly didn't.”

She stood from her chair, crossing the room towards me timidly. I stood as well, waiting for her to come to me.

Our chests were practically touching before she stopped, my view filled with nothing but her beautiful face. Her eyes were bright, but hesitant. She didn't know what to say now. I did.

“I'm sorry I lied to you.” It was a real apology this time, not like the one I did before. I sensed no anger from her, but I needed to say it. It was enough, and before either of us could think of anything else to say, we were locked in an amorous embrace.

It had felt like an eternity since I kissed her, (and, no, the dream didn't count). This kiss was real, as real as her warm body pressed against my own. I would have been content with a sweet, romantic entwine, but it had been too long. We craved far more.

She was as fervent as I, maybe more so, her hands traveling to far more parts of my body than just my face and neck. I welcomed her touch and responded with my own. I had almost forgotten how soft and warm she was; a certain electricity emanated from her flesh that fired me up further.

It was a miracle we were able to pull each other's clothes off when we couldn't seem to keep our hands off of each other. We both jumped in alarm when my hat clanked loudly on the floor, but even that wasn't enough to slow us down. We didn't even make it to her bed, instead falling on the soft cushioned quilt on her floor. Her body lay below mine as I kissed my way down her neck and chest, lingering on her bosom.

She still had her bodice on, the cloth pulled down just enough to expose her breasts, and I discovered where that sweet lavender scent came from. I lingered there, suckling and caressing to my heart's content. She smelled and tasted of sweat and sweet soap.

She entwined her fingers in my hair, encouraging my touch with soft moans. I made sure to give both of her breasts equal attention – I didn't want one to become jealous of the other – before I moved down again.

There were advantages to being on top. I ached to be inside her, and I could have easily slipped in if I had a mind to. She had even spread herself open for me. I was in full control now, and I was going to use it to make sure she was satisfied first.

I moved down further, past her corset and hips. Her smell was stronger here, a sweet musky and intoxicating scent that made it even harder to resist taking her right there. I was patient, however. Making her happy would make me happy, too.

She tasted really good, too. This was another first for me, yet another act that baffled me when I saw others do it. I had my fingers inside her as my tongue teased, and she struggled to hold still as she gasped and sighed. It was more fun for me than I thought it would be, and I suckled and flicked teasingly, keeping my mind open to her wants. She didn't even realize she was letting me know, with every thought, exactly how to touch her, tease her, how hard, how fast. Or maybe she did; she knew what I was and I didn't have to hide my abilities from her anymore.

I heard a sharp intake of breath from her and her body tensed. I kept my motions steady, keeping her climax going as long as her body would let me.

With her body finally calmed and sated, it took all of my will to curb my own enthusiasm. I crawled up to her, taking her mouth with mine in a zealous kiss. I wanted her so badly, my own body trembling with restrained desire, but I wasn't certain if I should wait or take her now.

She answered for me. She broke our kiss just enough to lean down and take me in her hand, guiding me to our goal. I lost all restraint, and I was in with one quick thrust.

It started off...awkward. She had been in control last time, and was experienced and skilled. It was nothing but wonderful with her at the reigns. Now it was up to me, and I felt like a novice swimmer floundering in the water. Trying to delve into her thoughts for an answer didn't help this time; not only was it very difficult to do so my current state of excitement, but her last male lover was also her first from years ago. Still, I did my best, and it felt incredible, but also felt erratic, chaotic.

This was until she reached down, taking my hips in her hands, using them to guide my movements.

“Shh, steady rhythm, like a song.” Her hands were gentle but firm, and she guided and calmed my movements. I could hear it now, feel it, and I composed myself just enough to follow the tempo.

_Now_ it felt right. We both heard the same music this time, our bodies moving in tandem. My entire body felt wonderfully hot, burning, and the faster I went, the higher the tempo, the better it felt.

I leaned down to give her a gentle kiss, never missing a beat. I felt the familiar heat build up inside me, and it took all the strength I had not to cry out. Instead it came out as growl, but it was enough to release the pressure, and my own body tensed, shivering with the intensity of my climax.

She leaned up and gave me a kiss as my body finally eased. It was the perfect epilogue to a perfect moment. She was mine again, and I hers. I never want to forget.


	16. Promotions

I don't need to sleep – the old songs still pull me – though their songs are softer now than they once were. I couldn't resist sleeping next to Maryden, though. I wanted to spend as much time with her as I could, and what better place to do it than in our dreams?

The best part was waking up next to her. We were naked, her back settled against my chest, one of my legs nestles between hers. We were a perfect fit, and I pulled her closer, inhaling her sweet scent.

I brushed her curly hair out of her face and kissed her softly on the cheek, and she rewarded me with a happy sigh. “Good morning.” I think that's the proper greeting for someone just waking up. That's what Varric tells me.

“Morning.” She yawned, twisting onto her back so she look at me. It gave me the chance to steal a kiss from her. She did not complain.

“Did you,” she stretched her body, failing to stifle a yawn, “did you go traipsing through my dreams again?”

“You walked in mine this time,” I corrected her. I was able to manipulate the Fade in ways no human, or even mage could. I liked seeing her joy as I showed her what dreams could really be.

“I could get used to seeing you in dreams,” she mused. “Perhaps a Fade-touched beau works after all.”

Her words gave me pause. “So, you're alright now? With spirits?”

“Not every spirit; just the ones like you.”

“Even though the Chantry tells you it's wrong?”

She twisted her body around to face me. She had a shine in her eyes and a smirk on her pretty lips. “I'm also in the Inquisition, Cole. I can defy the Chantry yet again.”

I smiled back at her. It was all I could hope for.

We didn't want to get up yet, so we made love again. It was getting easier this time, and I think I'm getting better. Making others happy always made me happiest, but this was mutual. Selfish and selfless all at once.

We had just finished, and were cuddling and tickling each other in a heap of sheets and limbs when a loud knocking came to the door. “Hey, Diva? Have you seen the Kid? He's not in his room.”

She was too caught up in giggles, so I answered for her. “I'm here, Varric.”

“Ah!” I didn't have to see his face to know it lit up with a huge grin. “Good to know. When you two are done doing...whatever it is you are doing...” He knew what we were doing. “...Come see me in my office. I'd like to talk to you.”

I could hear him shuffle away. I'm certain he was still grinning.

Maryden let out a disappointed sigh. “I guess that means it's time to get up.”

It took a bit to find our clothes scattered about the room. I'm not sure how my shirt got underneath a pile of books, or how her small clothes got lost in a stack of music sheets, but we found them. Before long she was placing my hat back on my head and we were headed to Varric's room.

He wasn't drinking his usual Hanged Man swill when we found him standing by his fire place. He'd pulled out a bottle from his stash; a flavored whiskey from Anderfel, I think. It was already half empty, and he was nursing another glass.

“Ah, good! You're here.” He gestured for us to sit. “I take it you two have...reconciled.”

He placed a glass down for me and Maryden, even though she was the only one to pour herself a small glass. “Yes, I think we're good now, Varric.”

“Yes,” I was so excited to tell him. “You were right, Varric. She accepts me now. We even slept together and it was – Ow!”

Varric was laughing at me being kicked under the table, but Maryden was scowling. “Cole!”

“Why'd you kick me? He already knows what we did.”

“You don't have to spell it out for him!”

Varric struggled to take another drink from his glass as he laughed. “Don't worry, Diva. I'll get all the sordid details from him later.”

I was just confused. “No, you won't.”

Maryden was pale as a ghost, “Varric!”

He shrugged. “It's for my next friend-fiction.”

The color came back to Maryden's cheeks all at once, and even putting her hands over her face didn't hide how red it was. That was when I understood. “Oh....sorry.”

Varric decided to pour more whisky into Maryden's glass before pushing it to her. “You may have to get used to this, Diva. Kid has a hard time keeping spoilers to himself.”

That doesn't help, Varric!

She took a small sip, grimacing at the strength of the drink. She liked the flavor, though. It would make her feel better soon.

“But I didn't bring you guys in here to embarrass you.” He went back to staring at the fire, his face somber once more. “I have important and unexpected news, it seems.”

I already knew what the news was, but Maryden didn't. “What's going on, Varric?”  
  
“You may recall Bran calling me to the Viscount's keep to offer me the position of Chief Planner; since the position recently became vacant after all.”

“You deserve it. You've done more than anyone else in the city to try and fix everything.”

“That's true, isn't it?” He gave a half-smile. The news was weighing heavy on his mind. “So it may surprise you to know I didn't get the position.”

She stopped just short of taking another sip. “What? That's ridiculous! After all the cargo ships and wagons full of supplies you brought in?”

“Yep. They're gonna hand the position to Lady Durand. She's got a stick up her ass the size of the White Spire, but I'm confidant she'll do a fine job.”

“But what about you?”

“Me? Oh, they decided to make me Viscount instead.”

Maryden's outrage went away faster than it came. “They...what?”

“Viscount,” Varric repeated as though it were the most common thing ever. “Of Kirkwall. They decided to put me in charge of everything rather than just city planning.”

I could finally say it, “Congratulations!”

“Thanks, Kid.”

Maryden could only stair in stunned silence. Varric took the opportunity to down the last of his drink, letting out a satisfied sigh.

“There were a few protests, mostly from people who didn't think a dwarf should be Viscount. Bran assured everyone there were no laws that said we couldn't. I think he was lying; probably changed the books just so he could dump the position on me.”

Bran wasn't lying, but he was desperate enough to do something like that if it meant handing the Viscount position to someone else. He really, _really_ didn't want to be Viscount.

“So, you had the whole ceremony and everything?” Maryden was still perplexed by the whole thing.

“There's still some paper-work to be done, but yeah. Bran was very anxious to make it official. Had the entire ceremony prepped and ready before I even realized what was happening. I think they planned it that way.”

“And you didn't invite us?”

Varric smirked and shook his head. “Besides the fact that the two of you were obviously 'busy,' I didn't realize they were going to make me Viscount when I walked in.”

Maryden is blushing again. I don't understand why talking about sex makes people feel shame. It's just sex. Everyone does it! Well, almost everyone...maybe...

“So, you guys weren't invited to an ultra-boring ceremony to make me Viscount, but I do still have some ultra-boring paper work to fill out at the keep, and I'd like you to come with me.”

“Of course!” I was happy to help. Maryden wasn't as excited, but she agreed to go as well.

“Excellent! I don't have to suffer alone.” He drank down the last of his drink before re-corking the near-empty whiskey bottle. “Hey, do you think this means I can take the Hanged Man now?”

* * *

 

“No, Varric.”

We ran into Aveline right outside the Barracks, where she was rushing us back to her office. She had some of the paperwork Varric needed to fill out, but she had another reason to lead us back there. She wouldn't tell us what.

She also wasn't as keen on Varric's idea as he was.

“Aveline, with all due respect, I don't need your permission anymore. I'm the Viscount of Kirkwall!” She was moving quickly, and he had to take two steps for every one of hers, but it didn't deter him. “That means I'm your boss now, right?”

That stopped her walking. We almost ran right smack into her back before she whirled on us. “I can't stop you from taking the Hanged Man anymore, Varric, but the Seneschal can. There are certain rules here in the city even the Viscount can't skirt.” She crossed her arms stubbornly. “And I'm quite familiar with all of them.”  
  
“Really? When did you become familiar with all these rules?”

“Last night, when I found out they made you Viscount.”

“Bah! Always taking the fun out of my good news, Aveline.”

That made her smile, and she started walking again.

Her office was surprisingly ordinary but tidy. A neatly organized desk lay in the center, with plaques and military weapons decorating the walls. We were not alone in her office; a strangely familiar, dark-skinned guard dressed in fresh pristine armor sat on one side of it. He stood at attention the moment Aveline entered.

“At ease, soldier,” Aveline said, barely throwing a glance his way as she moved around the desk. He relaxed – sort of – but didn't sit down. Soldiers are strange.

“So what is this about, Aveline?” Varric asked as he hopped into the only other empty chair the soldier just vacated. “And did you want this guy to leave before we start?”

“This 'guy,'” Aveline said, gesturing towards the soldier, “Is one of the reasons I brought you here.”

“Is he new?” Varric asked as he also sized up the guard. “He...looks familiar, but I can't quite...”

“You have,” Aveline corrected. “You've all met him.”

“Really?”

He addressed Varric in a voice we all instantly recognized. “Yes, Your Excellency.”

Most of us were stunned into silence. Only Maryden seemed able to actually say it. “Duty?”

“Yes, Ser.”

He didn't look anything like a spirit. No green, transparent glow at all; just a fully-fleshed man. His skin was the color of walnut wood; dark and inhumanly flawless. He wasn't very tall, about the same height as Aveline; slim and muscled, with a strong, square jaw and pitch-black lochs that hung to his shoulders. His eyes were a dark brown, but I could still see a hint of Fade-green within them.

“It's...not perfect, Ser,” he said nervously to me as he noted my scrutiny. “It would have been much easier to take Brice's form...but I did not feel it right.”

Aveline sat halfway on her desk, staring at Duty while addressing us. “He came to me last night and we had a very long chat. Not a typical day for me to spend debating with a de...um... _spirit_ , but he's determined and loyal, which is more than I could hope for from any of my men.”

I was still confused, but also happy. And excited. “Are you joining the guard, Duty?”

“I'd like to, Ser.”

Varric rubbed his face in awe. “Andraste's flaming brassiere. _Another_ one.” He was regretting not bringing the Antivan whiskey along. “And just how do you intend to make this happen, Aveline? It's not like you can take him to your men and say, 'Hey, meet your new recruit! Duty the Fade Spirit!' Say, 'hello,' Duty!”

“Hello, Your Excellency.”

“Mental note: Give new recruit a lesson in 'sarcasm.'”

Aveline rolled her eyes. “I'll be introducing him as Private _De'Voir_ , not Duty. And what my men don't know about him doesn't hurt anyone.”

“You don't think the De'Voir family will have something to say about him taking their name?”

She shook her head sadly. “He's all that is left of them. And I dare any of their servants to try and speak up about it.”

Duty gave a curt bow to Varric. “I swear I will bring honor to their names, Your Excellency.”

Maryden spoke up. “You're okay with all this, Aveline?”

The Guard-Captain shrugged. “It took a lot of convincing, but he persuaded me...somehow. I intend to keep a very close eye on him, but I admit to being...curious. I can say this for him, though,” she grinned, “he saves us the cost of procuring a new uniform.”

Varric chuckled. “You always were a push-over when it came to your friends, Aveline.”

“Shut up, Varric.”

“Aveline, do show some respect! I'm Viscount now.”

“Shut up, Your Excellency.”

“That's better.”

“Congratulations,” I said with the same pride and enthusiasm I gave Varric earlier. He was right that his body was not as complete as mine – he was still far more spirit than human – but he was working at it. It felt strange knowing I wasn't quite so unique anymore.

“Thank you, Ser, but there is another matter...”

He didn't have to tell me what it was. “I have to let you go.”

“Yes, Ser.”

I never wanted to take command of anybody, so I don't know why I hesitated. This felt right, like he was where he was meant to be. Yet, in the short time I knew him, I came to see him as a friend. A friend that's like me. I didn't want to let that go.

Being selfish is one of those traits I got as a human. I'm still not used to it.

“Alright. I release you, Duty. You'll make a very good guard!”

He gave me a sad smile. He thought of me as a friend, too. “Thank you, Ser.”

* * *

 

The Hanged Man was packed with people for the first time since I'd come to Kirkwall. There were issues at the docks, and Varric had an army of dwarven workers clearing the red lyrium out of the Gallows, but Kirkwall was a center for trade and commerce once again. It made Varric very popular, even if his easy-going demeanor and disregard for protocol gave Seneschal Bran a lot of headaches.

It was very good for Maryden, too, who was being paid well. She was performing a new song, _Slightest_ , giving the inn a warmth and joy it normally lacked. It was the song she wrote after our trip to the elven Alienage, and many elves in the inn raised their glasses to the song.

Normally I sat behind her. I would scan the room and let Maryden know what song she needed to sing next; the song someone needed to hear. But with Varric, Aveline, and Duty here, we had to move to another part of the inn to keep from disturbing her.

We all sat and took a drink. I didn't like the stuff at the Hanged Man, but I was starting to develop a taste for sweet wines and mead. Nothing too strong, but I rather enjoyed the light-headed and warm feeling it brought. I had a small glass of some of Maryden's favorite in front of me. Aveline was having some sort of whiskey. Varric had a large mug of the Hanged Man's “finest.”

This was Duty's first time at the inn, but he refused to sit at our table. He still didn't understand what it meant to be with friends.

“You're welcome to sit with us, Lackey. You don't have to drink to be part of the conversation.”

“I thank you, Ser,” he responded to Varric, still unmoving. “But I feel I can serve better if I stand guard.”

“Guard what? We're perfectly safe here.”

I wouldn't really call the Hanged Man “safe,” but I wasn't going to argue.

“With all due respect, Your Excellency, I would prefer...”

Aveline would have none of it. “Private De'Voir, sit!”

He obeyed.

Aveline and Varric continued to chat about boring politics, Duty sat quietly, and I stared at Maryden. I really liked just looking at her, studying every part of her. The way a few strands of hair would escape from her updo, her calloused fingers plucking the strings of her lute, her voice carrying across the tavern, even over the gusto of the patrons. It was hard to tell if her voice was simply too strong to be drowned out, or the patrons unconsciously kept their voices low enough for her to be heard. Maybe both.

She was coming to the end of her song, and I had to be ready for it. I excused myself to walk over to her, just as she played her last note. I leaned in to whisper into her ear, close enough for our cheeks to touch. Her face was soft and smooth, and I could feel the movement of her skin as she smiled. I couldn't resist slipping my hand in hers, briefly of course. She needed that hand to play her lute. It just felt really good to be close to her.

With my simple request spoken, I stole a ticklish kiss on her cheek, which made her giggle. She reluctantly took her hand back to play _Scout Lace Harding_. Varric had hired a lot of dwarven workers to clear out the red at the Gallows, and the song about one of their own would make them happy.

I returned to my seat. I wanted to stay with Maryden, to hear her songs and be close to her, but I wanted to be with my friends now. I wouldn't be with them much longer.

“Glad to see you happy like that, Kid,” Varric said, raising his glass before swallowing it down in one large gulp. Even Aveline was smiling.

“I am happy. I like being with her.”

“You sure you two have to leave, Kid? There's still a lot you and Maryden can do here.”

“Yes, but there is a lot we can do in other places, too.”

I could stay in Kirkwall for many years and still have plenty of hurts to heal. I probably would stay if not for Maryden. She was very popular now. Thedas wanted to hear her sweet voice, harmonizing hymns that hummed with happiness.

And I would go wherever she went.

The thought of me leaving caused Varric pain, even though he tried his best to hide it. I would miss him most.

“I will visit, Varric. And I will write a lot, too.”

He gave a half-smile, shaking his head sadly. “Sure, sure, Kid. I have to remind myself you're all grown up now. Shit, I helped make you that way.”

“Thank you, Varric.”

“Maybe I should have let Solas have his way. Maybe then you wouldn't be leaving.”

I had no way of knowing if that was true or not. “I like being like this, Varric. I'm glad you helped pull me more here.”

He put an affectionate hand on my shoulder. “You'll be missed, Kid. If you need anything, you be sure to let me know.”

I nodded and smiled at him, turning my eyes to Maryden again. I'll miss Varric. And Duty. And Aveline. And Kirkwall. But I would always be with her.

And that was all the happy I needed.


	17. Epilogue

It was a small village, somewhere on the Imperial Highway between Montfort and Ghislain. I can't remember the name now, but Maryden had been thrilled to find it. It meant we didn't have to set up camp again and rest on the hard earth. I didn't mind, but she really wanted to sleep in a soft bed for a change.

She was curled up under the linen sheets, fast asleep. It wasn't as luxurious as the ones you'd find in much larger cities, but it was clean and comfortable, and her peaceful form brought a smile to my face. In the morning we'd be headed out to Ghislain to perform, spreading the word of the Inquisitor and his valiant defeat of Corypheus. As promised, she kept me out of her tales. I really didn't want to share in that kind of attention.

My thoughts were interrupted by a tapping on the window; tap, tap, tap, like someone was hitting it with a stick. I was a little unnerved by the tapping at first, especially since we were on the second floor, but I quickly realized what it was. You'd think I'd be used to it by now, but I wasn't.

I opened the window and, sure enough, it was a crow. She was a fat crow, with dark gray feathers and an orange crest on her back. She carried a tiny scroll tied to a string around her neck.

I reached out to pet her. I'm not sure why I did; I knew it was a useless act. I liked crows and couldn't help myself. She side stepped me (of course) and darted into the room, flying straight toward Maryden's bed. The scroll wasn't for me, and even the lure of an affectionate pat wouldn't let her risk the note falling into another's hands. They are very loyal birds.

“Don't wake her!” It's hard to give an order and sound commanding when you can only speak in whispers. Thankfully, either the raven understood, or she had never been interested in disturbing anyone anyway. Instead, she landed gently on the head of the bed, puffing herself up against the cold, which made her look even fatter than before. She then closed her eyes, content to look like an adorable ball of fluffy feathers.

Birds came to Maryden all the time, always from some noble, mayor, or other authority figure looking for a world-renowned performer. She was only one person, though, and all too often she had to decline their offers. She hated refusing anyone; it broke her heart to reject, but she could only do so much. I would be there to comfort her if she had to.

I was so focused on watching the bird falling asleep on Maryden's headboard that I didn't notice the other bird until he “bit” me. It didn't hurt, but it startled me enough to make me jump away from the window, holding my hand protectively.

It was another raven. This one more slender than the last, with darker feathers and a bright red crest. He was looking at me expectantly, glaring at me for being in his way.

Another raven meant another invitation. Maryden could take one, but she couldn't possibly accept two. She wasn't going to like this.

I stepped aside, giving the bird a clear bath to Maryden's bed, but he didn't move. Maybe he saw the other bird and didn't want to share a bed post, I thought, so I moved to the other side of the window to give him a clear path to the foot of the bed instead. Still he didn't move. He just kept staring at me. Strange bird.

“Go on,” I encouraged in a whisper. “She'll be up soon to take your message.”

He ignored my coaxing, coming closer to me instead and snapping at my hand yet again. I was ready this time, making sure my hand was clear, even if he had no intention of hurting me. He was trying to get my attention.

_My_ attention. The note was for me!

This was unusual. Every bird we got was for Maryden. I didn't play or sing or do anything of the sort so I didn't get requests. This must have been from a friend. Maybe it was from Varric!

I reached forward and carefully removed the scroll from around his neck, giving him a friendly scratch as I did so. The crow leaned into it, his eyes closing, jagged beak opening wide in approval. I think it had been awhile since anyone had pet him. If he were a cat, he'd probably be purring. Crows that purr; that's a fun thought!

I gave the bird another pat on the head before letting him go home. For a brief moment, he contemplated nipping at me again for more attention, but instead hopped out of the window and took flight.

I looked back at Maryden, and found the first bird was now glaring at me. I think she was jealous that my bird got attention, and she was stuck looking over a sleeping woman.

_'I'd love to pet you_ ,' I thought silently, hoping my expression conveyed what I didn't actually say. She gave me a grumpy glare, glowering, grouchy. She was duty-bound to protect the scroll, however, so she settled for envying me broodily.

“I have a friend in Kirkwall who would love you,” I whispered. She pretended to ignore me, unamused.

The first thing I noticed as I untied the scroll was that it was not from Varric. He was Viscount now, so the scroll would have had the seal of Kirkwall on it. It did not.

It had the seal of the Inquisition.

The handwriting was the beautiful script that could only come from the Inquisition's Diplomat, Josephine. I initially thought the letter was from my friend, Lavellan the Inquisitor, but this was an official invitation, not a friendly letter.

A gust of wind from the window almost blew my scroll out of my hand, and I was reminded that I forgot to close the shutters. I remedied that quickly, keeping a hold of the scroll before it blew away. It was too late to stop the wind from disturbing the occupants of my room, though.

“What's going on?”

Maryden was awake now, leaning up and stretching with a loud yawn. The crow at the head of the bed was glaring at me – again – and not just because the wind messed up her feathers.

 

_ 'I know, I know,'  _ I thought to the bird again _. '_ _Sorry.'_

“Cole?”

“Sorry.” I said it out loud this time while making sure the shutters were latched tight. “You got a letter.”

She looked up to see the bird, who stood and stretched her wings. Maryden wasn't all that excited to see her. She liked crows, but she saw routine, repetition, requisition in the scroll around the bird's neck.

She got up, unconcerned with her state of undress as she reached up to stroke the bird's head and remove the scroll-necklace. Having received attention of her own, the bird stopped being jealous and decided she didn't hate me anymore. She even waited patiently and happily for me to open the shutters again so she could fly home.

“ _Maryden Halewell_ ,” she was reading hers out loud. Mine was exactly the same, except the name on the scroll of course.

“ _By decree of her Holiness, Divine Victoria, with the cooperation of the courts of Orlais and Ferelden, we have called an Exalted Council for all appropriate parties to determine the future of the Inquisition._ ”

I sat on the bed next to her, my own scroll in hand, but I watched Maryden read hers.

“ _As an agent of the Inquisition, we cordially invite you to come to the Winter Palace in Halamshiral, on Drakonis 20, 9:44 Dragon. Early attendance is encouraged._

“ _Yours Sincerely, Lady Josephine Cherette Montilyet, Ambassador to the Inquisition._ ”

She stared at the scroll in confusion. It wasn't quite what either of us expected. The future of the Inquisition? What did that mean? It didn't sound good...

“Are they trying to disband the Inquisition?” She spoke in a distraught whisper. The idea seemed unthinkable until now.

“Just Ferelden,” I reassured her...sort of. “Orlais wants to make it part of Orlais.”

“They can't do that!” Her beautiful eyes gazed at me with fear and denial.

“They are going to try.”

She looked away from me, but I could still see the sadness in her eyes. The Inquisition wasn't real, like a spirit isn't real, but we both loved it as though it were.

“We may be going to save it.” I put my arm around her, stroking her back reassuringly. “Or we may be saying, 'goodbye.' Either way, we should go.”

“I wasn't suggesting we not.” She gave me a sad smile. “I just...” She didn't finish; she simply sighed in defeat.

I leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. That was enough to make her smile for real. She liked it when I kissed her like that.

“It will be good to see our friends again.” I said as I stroked her cheek affectionately.

“Yes, especially the Herald. The Inquisitor.” She paused for a moment, cocking her head in thought. “Did you tell him about us?”

“No.” I wasn't sure I should tell him, what with his own love now crowned Divine. It didn't seem right to brag that I had something he lost. “Did you?”

“Me?” She laughed. “I don't know him nearly as well as you do.”

“You could still tell him.”

“How about we just tell him at Halamshiral?”

I nodded. Maybe it was best to tell him in person. He encouraged me to be more human and experience humanity. I think he'd approve of Maryden.

She laid back down in the bed, pulling the covers up over her breasts. I laid down next to her, on top of the blankets. I just liked being beside her.

“How do you think we should tell him?” She asked in a soft voice, getting ready to lull herself back to sleep.

I looked over at the window, remembering the birds that delivered the message, and I smiled to myself. “I think I know a way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Notes: Big thanks to Wendey for being my beta reader and writing buddy. I would not have gotten through this monster-of-a-story withoutcha! <3
> 
> * * *
> 
> **Easter Eggs**
> 
> While researching this story, I discovered Elizaveta, the singing talent behind Maryden. I fell in love with her songs and so, for shits and giggles, I decided to pepper the lyrics of her songs into various places of my story. Here is where you can find them:
> 
> Character, Chapter: “Quote” (Song)
> 
> _Maryden, Chapter 2: “I believe in fairy tales and serendipitous encounters.” (Dreamer)_
> 
> Cole, Chapter 5: “I get so hypnotized...lost...paralyzed.” (Trap)
> 
> Maryden, Chapter 15: “Consider your lies, in light of what's real.” (Meant)


End file.
